Incendie en Soufre
by East-Coast-Invictus
Summary: [Full summary inside] The Curse of the Black Pearl is broken, the Dead Man's Chest is reburied, and World's End has been traveled. Will and Elizabeth are married so now the focus is on Commodore James Norrington. COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own not the Pirates of the Caribbean or James Norrington but any OCs be mine so stay ye away, yar! –Brandishes hook hand-

Title- Incendie en Soufre (Fire and Brimstone)

AN: Takes place after all three movies. I've mentioned this before but I'll say it again. I have not seen nor heard of the third movie, only rumors and an interesting picture. Any of the events mentioned in this plot are purely of my imagination and are safe bets as to what happens in the third movie. Kind of a follow up to "Not A Pirate." It may be helpful to read it.

Some events may be left unexplained until later chapters. I haven't a clue as to the exact time period PotC takes place in so forgive me if my composers and music selections are a bit off.

Summary: The entire pirate fiasco is over with and things have settled down in the Caribbean. The pirate scourges are all but wiped out, Jack Sparrow and his crew and Davy Jones the only real ones left. Will and Elizabeth are married and the focus has turned to Commodore James Norrington. This is his tale; it is one of action, adventure, and possible, uncalled for romance.

--

Chapter One – Prelude in E, Mr. Chopin!

The music could barely be heard over the dull roar of party guests carrying on conversations. The blank expressions on the string quartet's faces meant they didn't even register the lack of listeners. But, they were getting paid to play and that's just what they did.

From one corner of the room, a man was actually watching the display of deft musicianship. They were an amiable group, to be sure, but he'd seen better. In one hand was clasped a delicate wine glass, the crystal shining in the lamp light. The wine being swirled lightly in it was a deep, rich crimson. The other hand rested idly on the hilt of a delicately wrought sword that hung from his belt.

The man was easily identifiable- naval uniform, white wig, commodore's amulet around his neck. There were several other officers there at the party, all of them Port Royal's and the King's Navy's finest, but they answered to this one man – Commodore James Norrington.

The wine glass was raised to his lips and he was beginning to take a drink when someone shouted a greeting and slapped him heartily on the back. "James old bean! It's been ages!"

Sputtering and trying to avoid getting the red wine on himself, Norrington wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. The large bulk of Richard Stephens came around from behind him, the round, ruddy face of the man split in a grin. Stephens was also a commodore.

"I suppose it has been ages, Richard," James began, trying to keep a sour expression from wrinkling his features. He and Richard had gone into the navy at the same time and knew each other by family ties. Both of their fathers had known each other for years but John Stephens was passed over and Edward Norrington became a commodore. There little love lost between the two men but it wasn't obvious unless you knew the whole story. "I could've sworn you were still in England? What brings you to Port Royal?"

"This 'lil get-together, actually. Mum knows the guv'ner who knows Anderson. And ye know me, always willin' to go to a party!" He took about half of the spiced rum in his glass in one gulp.

"Indeed," James replied, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. There were few humans who grated on his normally iron-clad nerves but Richard Stephens did it with a jagged file. It was hard to believe this seemingly ignorant man who spoke in the same mannerisms as a pirate was a commodore.

Richard navigated his rotund frame around to stand beside James. He found he had to look down to see Richard's face. Had the man always been that short? "'Ow's the wife search goin' for ye, Jim?" he queried. James tried to keep from sneering at the nickname. Richard took it for a reply to his question. "Oh, no luck then? Bloody unlucky, man." He puffed his already large chest out a bit. "Just hooked me a bonny lass not too long ago."

"Congratulations. I can barely contain my enthusiasm for you." The large man guffawed at the sarcastic comment and gave James a playful punch on the shoulder that knocked him off balance for a moment. The contents of his wine glass sloshed over the rim and onto his hand.

"Ye're such a cad, Jim." Finally, the man fell silent. James glanced up towards the ceiling, mentally thanking God for the welcome silence. But, it was short lived. Richard's large elbow entered his side. "Wot about that one for ye?" he asked, gesturing to a woman across the room.

"That's Mrs. Anderson, Richard," James said slowly. No one could deny the Lady Anderson's good looks and equally classy, sophisticated style. Edmund Anderson was incredibly thankful to have her as a wife. Richard winced, grinning.

"Oh." Richard quickly found something else to yammer about. "Oi, that band there ain't 'alf bad, eh?"

"I suppose," James said. "I've heard better."

"Eh, I s'ppose ye have, being a music connoisseur 'n all." James managed to roll his eyes wearily without Richard noticing. The other commodore began to say something when a female voice called out.

"Riiicchaaard!" The voice trilled like an opera singer's and an equally large woman materialized out of a group of ladies and headed over towards the two commodores. The group of women looked over wearily; it was obvious they were glad to see the woman go. One lady sent James an apologetic look.

"Oi, here's me lady now," Richard said grinning and elbowing James in the ribs again. He was careful to keep his wine glass steady this time. The woman came to a stop before them and curtsied, smiling coyly. "Jim, this is Mrs. Susan Finn Stephens. M'dear, this be my good ship mate, Jim Norrington. 'E's a commodore like me." Richard had thrown an arm up and around James' shoulders. The action pulled him down several inches and sloshed more wine over his hand. By the end of the night, his cuffs would be stained permanently. Wonderful.

James removed Richard's arm and bowed slightly at the waist, giving her one of those polite smiles reserved for parties like this. "It's certainly a pleasure, Commodore," she said.

"Likewise, Mrs. Stephens," he said civilly. The woman beamed at him. Richard elbowed him again.

"Oh, lemme tell ye how we met!" And he started off on the tale. James actually stopped paying attention but he nodded every once in a while and laughed when they did. He never thought he'd make it through the entire story for Richard kept going off on something else and elbowing him with a guffaw every time there was a joke. His free hand was about to reach for his pocket watch with the intent of looking at it and falsely declaring that he had to be somewhere when there was a tap on his shoulder.

The Stephens' story halted as they turned to find a woman maybe in her late twenties had come up as well. She flushed slightly as she met their gazes. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to interrupt. I merely came to ask the Commodore for a dance," she said apologetically, gesturing towards James. She was a striking woman with dark brown hair and eyes and the complexion of a Spanish maid. The subtle scarlet hue of her dress complimented her dark features.

James looked at her, mildly surprised. It was a well known fact he couldn't dance to save his life and yet here she was with a dance intended. He cast a quick glance at Richard and Susan before turning and setting his almost empty wine glass on the table behind them. "I suppose I cannot refuse," he said, pulling a smile. This smile was easier to execute; he may not be able to dance but it was a good excuse to get away from the yammering couple.

The woman smiled and took his arm as James offered it to her. As the two moved off, Richard sighed and looked after them with a smile. "'Bout time! Those two make a nice couple, eh missus?"

Susan gaped at him. "You mean he's not married? How absurd for a man of his stature not to have a wife yet! But yes, they do compliment each other."

Once out of earshot, James let himself sigh in relief. They had paused before the dance floor and he turned to her. "I-"

"You're welcome, Commodore Norrington."

"What?"

She grinned, a slightly mischievous one. "You don't mean to tell me that you didn't want to be away from them?" she queried, nodding towards the Stephens who had moved off to bother someone else. James blinked.

"Well, I must say I hadn't expected a rescue to come in such a form." She laughed, the sound liquid and tinkling.

"How gentlemanly. Again, you're welcome. Now, you will repay me with a dance," she said smiling. He snorted.

"I have two left feet I'm afraid."

"Not a problem," she said, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "I'll lead."

"Oh good. May I know your name, miss? You already know mine."

"Melissa Hart," she replied.

"A pleasure, Miss Hart," he said, bowing at the waist. She laughed again and led him out onto the dance floor.

AN: Tell meh how ye like it! If ye don't, may ye be cursed! He he, just kidding folks. But seriously, review. Only me second one, if you can call one shots an actual story. I want to see what the Pirates writers think of meh little plot. It's in fledgling stages now but not to worry; it'll grow!


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two – _Chason san Mot_

The _clip-clop_ of Maria's hooves against the cobblestone street was the only sound audible. Moonlight and starlight combined gave the street and buildings a silver-washed appearance. Port Royal's town was dead quiet at 1 A.M. and the lack of noise pressed down on the big bay mare. But her rider James Norrington was lost in his own world, replaying the events of the night over in his mind.

Edmund Anderson's anniversary party was _the_ place to be at if one was an important socialite or any other well-known official. The festivities had just settled down and the party goers had just left Anderson's large manor, smiling and laughing wearily. James actually found himself half wishing that the dancing and music would go on forever. But, no. It ended and in five hours, he'd be back to the daily grind.

Life just hadn't been the same since the pirate drama ended with a typical happy ending for the famous Turner-Swann couple. Jack Sparrow was reclaimed from World's End and he and Barbossa had set up an uneasy truce. Davy Jones reclaimed his heart from Beckett, who had been tossed to the Kraken by the sea-devil captain himself. Jones also took the liberty of smashing Tia Dalma's all-knowing compass with the barnacle encrusted claw replacing his left hand.

For Norrington, he was released from Beckett's hold at the East India Company leader's death. When the letters of Marque were returned to Beckett, the man had had one condition- Norrington would become commodore again but he'd have to track down the remaining fugitives, Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, and Elizabeth Swann. James agreed readily; anything to get his life back. The many thoughts of just giving up, turning into a pirate and giving up ethics during his de-commissioned months were things no one would ever find out about. Neither would the disgrace he had lived in become vocal. He would have given up anything to get those blasphemous notions and memories out of his mind.

However, about a day after he'd signed the papers, James began wrestling with his conscience. Jack Sparrow he could kill. Turner? No, that wouldn't do. Will's fiancé would hate him if he did. But to kill Elizabeth Swann? It had been an impossible notion but he knew merely capturing the trio would lead to their deaths, even if he wasn't wearing the executioner's robe.

With a heavy heart, James Norrington had set out with a new crew and a new ship, the _Intrepid_. The resulting chaos was unimaginable but, with the new-found resolve that had reinforced his formerly low self-esteem, he and the crew had come through in one piece. World's End was like nothing he'd ever seen. James had to admit; the men of Port Royal had toughened up during his absence.

Perhaps it had been the commodore sent to replace him. Just thinking about Richard Stephens again made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Much to his chagrin, Stephens went about business like a pirate: cocky, rough, coarse. All of the legal work that had gone into re-instating James was tremendous. Stephens had protested of course; it had been the only real protest against his 'friend' in both their lives. He argued that the men now actually knew what they were doing. The meeting was postponed. The Port Royal officials were at a loss at who to choose.

It was when Lieutenent Gillette spoke up to James that the Port Royal soldiers' opinion came out. None of them could stand Stephens. The man pushed them beyond the brink, mentally and physically. The tough shell all of the men, even Gillette himself, wore was the result of trying to endure Stephens' treatment of them.

At the next meeting, James argued that point and it was effective, if rather small. The general consensus was taken from the soldiers and Stephens was sent home to England. He kept his rank as a commodore but Norrington was back in charge of Port Royal's militia. Richard departed on good terms with James but there was terseness between them that had never been there before. It was regrettable but, as it's been stated; Stephens had never been one of James' favorite people.

That night at Andersons', the terseness had not presented itself from Stephens. Maybe it had been a combination of the spiced rum and light music that had put the round man into a good mood. And that usually ended up heralding a long-winded, boring story or banal joke with an obvious punch line. James had almost felt bad seeing Stephens dismissed like he was but the feeling dissipated when the man constantly demonstrated his inept, obnoxious social skills.

But, the highlight of the night had been that he'd actually danced. For most of the beginning, his eyes stayed on his feet. Even then, he'd accidentally trod on his partner's own feet. But as the steps became familiar, James found that twirling around on a dance floor wasn't as bad as it seemed. He'd never do it for fun or free time but it was a half welcome experience. And then there was Melissa Hart. The commodore couldn't quite place his finger on it but the woman had an odd air about her. They'd swapped storied back and forth during the dance and shared conversation for most of the night.

When it came time for the party to end, both James and Melissa had bid farewell to each other. Though, they didn't know it, both of them were saying mentally "I doubt I'll ever see them again." And it was probably correct.

Maria jerked her head to the right, almost pulling the reins out of her master's hands. James fumbled for the leather strips in the dark as he scolded the mare, pleasant reverie interrupted. Though he wanted to lapse back into thought, James knew Maria wouldn't let him. The horse was too human for many people's tastes and had a vain, conceited personality. But, the only person the mare took orders from was James. Hence her notorious title as "Norrington's One-Man Mare." No one had attempted to steal Maria but the commodore half wished someone would try. They'd get a pleasant surprise.

The split-rail fence that surrounded James' small estate came into view under the moonlight. And, on top of the hill in the distance was the house itself. Automatically, Maria's hooves picked up a swifter pace. The bay wasn't stupid and new there'd be a bin of feed awaiting her in the stable.

Once Maria was put away, James made his way up to the house. There was a lamp light visible over the double door entrance and one more in the kitchen. The one in the kitchen was probably Miles, the only one of his father's servants that crossed over with him from England. The older man was standing in the entrance to the dining hall, a lamp in hand as James turned to lock the double doors behind him. The lamp's tentative beam flowed across the hard wood floor and glittered on the commodore's shoe buckles. "I thought it was you, sir. I took the liberty of waiting for your arrival."

"Forgive me for keeping you up, Miles," James said as he hung the ring of keys on a peg above the doors. "I hadn't expected Mr. Anderson to keep the festivities up so long."

Miles smiled warmly. "Not a problem, sir." He stepped out of the way as James walked past him, heading for his room. "Have a good night, sir," he called.

"Same to you, Miles."

--

The deep bass gong that emitted from the hallway clock roused James from sleep. He sat up rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching over for his pocket watch with the other. The gold cover popped open as he thumbed the clasp. Six o'clock A.M. His grey-green eyes flickered to the window. The early morning light was just barely coming in through the curtains.

The same morning ritual had served to awaken and fully prepare James Norrington for most of his life. It took approximately 14 minutes to execute and exactly at 6:15 A.M. James Norrington stood in the entrance hall brushing a bit of lint off his blue and gold jacket. He glanced at an image of himself in a small mirror that hung in the hall. James saw himself, a man just barely in his mid-thirties that looked almost near forty. His brow furrowed at the image and his reflection frowned back. He placed the final piece of his uniform on his head. The tri-fold hat was the day to day hat and not the feathered ceremonial one that he'd worn last night. He pushed the hat a down a bit, setting it at a jaunty angle.

Quiet satisfied with his appearance, James left the house. Outside, the weather was pure and clear. White puffy clouds drifted by overhead, some mammoth and some miniscule. An eastern breeze blew in from the harbor, bringing with it a hint of salt and water. It'd be a bad day for fishing.

--

"Did ye see 'im?"

"Yes."

"Did ye speak wiv 'im?"

"Yes."

"Did it look like he was suspicious?"

"No."

"Good. In order to overdrow dese foolish English men, de Commodore must be taken care of. De governor and any odher men of power in Port Royal must be taken care of as well. We will get our land back even if it means takin' out de entire port."

The first speaker had an accent distinctly Jamaican. Its octaves were low but feminine, distilling in it a sense of mystery and menace. The speaker's facial features were unseen, hidden in the heavy shadows of an alley. The second speaker's features were also hidden but by the shadows of a red silk cape with a hood. This was also a woman but her own accent was English.

"When do you want it done?"

"First, pump de man of information. Anything dat will help us."

The second speaker bowed. "Yes, Madame Aleale. Give my regards to Lord Kordell." The first speaker could barely be seen nodding but the second speaker whirled around and left the alley.

--

"I don't care how it happened. Just get the man down!" James Norrington's bellow sent half a dozen sailors into motion. Up and tangled in the rigging of the _Intrepid_ was a sailor. How the man had managed such a feat as getting tangled in the series of sails and rope was beyond the commodore. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stood on the dock next to the _Intrepid_, watching the scene play out. Most embarrassing, he thought to himself as an irritated sneer creased his features.

It was only seven in the morning and already a crisis had occurred. If that could have been called a crisis. The attitude that had taken over him after regaining his commission was a serious one, terse and commanding. This front was displayed the most. Even at Anderson's the night before, he had been slightly aloof. His softer, more casual side only came out during the time he spent in the small library of the estate, playing the piano.

"Gillette, over see this mess. I have other matters to attend to," he called over to the lieutenant, who had been standing at the _Intrepid_'s helm.

"Yes, sir!"

Grumbling to himself, James unfolded his arms and strode up the dock towards the town. There were piles of papers and the like stacked on his desk and they needed to be sorted through. Chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully, he barely noticed the woman until he walked into her. She gave a small noise of surprise, teetering slightly. "Oh, forgive me!" he said, one hand going to the woman's shoulder to steady her. "My fault entirely."

"Commodore, what a pleasant surprise!" Melissa Hart looked up at him, a smile on her face. And to think last night, he thought he'd never see her again. But, that terse attitude had taken over and he couldn't spare a smile back.

"Miss Hart! I hadn't expected to find you down here."

"Oh, I just felt like exploring. It's my first time in Port Royal after all."

James nodded. "Would you mind showing me around?" she queried.

"I would, Miss Hart but I have some important matters to attend to." He glanced towards the _Intrepid_; the sailor caught in the rigging was being lowered down by a rope. Crisis solved. "My lieutenant would be able to show you around if you like."

Melissa appeared annoyed for a brief second but smiled again. "Oh, don't worry about it. Now that you mention important matters, I realize I have some of my own to attend to."

James tipped his hat to her, bowing slightly. "Good day then, Miss Hart," he said.

"Goody day, Commodore," she replied, curtsying slightly and watched him pivot on one heel and walk off. An expression not unlike Norrington's own toyed with her pretty features before she too, headed in a different direction.

--

The eastern breeze was blowing pleasantly through James' office as he sifted through a pile of parchment that lay before him. A third of it was already organized and signed in a neat pile on the left corner. He was about to crumple and toss the current document in his hands when a phrase caught his attention.

"Jamaican rebels attack British fort ten miles south of Port Royal.

Taken by surprise at night.

Three dozen British casualties in all- 25 wounded 11 dead.

Five rebels dead. Requesting fort reinforcements."

_Gov. George Ravel_

James' brow furrowed. Jamaican rebels? It wasn't something that was common. The natives in Port Royal had seemed content to let the Englishmen settle down with them. What would provoke such an attack? Perhaps it was something as simple as an ignorant sailor had violated a Jamaican tradition. Or, more complicated, such as someone who wanted control of Port Royal giving the natives the illusion that they'd been cheated out of their home land.

He folded the report in tucked it neatly into the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd have to speak to Governor Swann about this.

AN: …Kind of a boring chapter, I think. The title is in French- it translates as "Song without Words." A plot has been revealed! Whoop! Anyway, I hope you liked this one. Thanks to Erica and Lirulin for reviewing! I was just tickled pink when I read reviews. I hope you stick around for the next chapter!


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three – Allemande

"A rebellion? Preposterous!" Governor Swann pounded one fist on his desk for emphasis. "But, it must have been serious for Ravel to send a note." He chewed his bottom lip, brow furrowed. The note of folded paper from Governor Ravel lay open in the center of Swann's desk. Outside, the clear blue sky was over abundant with puffy clouds. The morning's innocence was gone from the formerly white cluster of condensation. A dark shade of grey had colored the clouds, foreshadowing rain, but neither man had noticed.

James stood before the governor, hands clasped behind his back. "It does sound out of the ordinary but I suggest we pay more attention to our neighbors. If a rebellion does occur, we should be ready for it."

The older man heaved a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "I do suppose you're right, Commodore." He gave him an almost apologetic smile. "The last thing we need is a rebellion, now that things have finally settled down."

"I agree." To the casual listener, it would seem like the reply was heart felt but internally, James was almost disappointed at how easily something could be solved. Though he was thankful for the break from pirates, Port Royal was just not very exciting any longer. It seemed to be an odd thing to think but he found himself thinking it nonetheless. Bowing slightly, he said, "A good day to you then, governor."

"To you as well," came the reply. The commodore turned on one heel and exited Swann's office. Taking a left out in the hall, he moved swiftly down the curving steps of the Swann household. The grand stair case was one of the first things a visitor saw and made quite an impression. Of course, there was the piano too. It was a beautiful one, rivaling James' own.

A servant scurried towards the door to open it for him as James came down the stairs. But before the man could reach for the handle, there was a knock. The servant opened the door to greet who ever had knocked. Outside, the once blue sky was turning grey with thick cloud cover. But James' attention was on the door. "Why, Mrs. Turner! What a surprise!"

James paused briefly beside the piano, looking up to find that Elizabeth had appeared on the door step. She was garbed in a plain dress of green. "What brings to you the household, Mrs. Turner?" the servant asked.

"Oh, just a routine visit to my father," she replied with a smile and stepping inside.

"Of course," the servant said, holding to door open. He hadn't forgotten the commodore waiting nearby. It was then Elizabeth noticed the man as he started again towards the door.

"Commodore Norrington," she stated simply, the barest hint of venom in the title.

"Mrs. Turner," James replied in the same voice, tipping his hat to her as he walked by. Even thought it'd been at least a year or two since World's End, none of the others had forgotten it had been him who'd stolen Davy Jones' heart. Elizabeth was beginning to loose the cool, aloof attitude that had been assumed in his presence. Like last week for example. There were good days and bad days, however. Like this one.

Elizabeth barely inclined her head and continued on in the opposite direction. The servant shuffled his feet anxiously as James stepped outside. "Have a good day, Commodore," the man called to James' back. James merely raised a hand in acknowledgement.

--

"They're onto us." Two figures crouched in the shrubbery on the borders of governor Swann's manor watching the blue and gold-garbed commodore cross the lawn. The faintest bit of thunder rumbled. The one that had spoken was an ebon-skinned bull of a man in a loose grey shirt and brown trousers tucked into some boots. A pair of pistols was strapped across his chest and two more hung from a wide leather belt around his waist. No hair graced his head and he spoke with little accent.

His companion was a dark little Englishman with a rat-like face. Big beady eyes seemed to start from his head. "'Ow do ye figure that?" he queried, scratching the back of his head rather stupidly.

"I heard about ze attack on Ravel's fort. No doubt these men were informed about it."

"Oh." The rat man blinked slowly for a second before his eyes lit up. "'Ey, why don' we just shoot the commodore now? E's gonna be shot later anyways," he began, reaching for his own pistol. The other man backhanded him smartly and seized him by the front of his shirt.

"Are you daft? Ze Spaniard is supposed to get information on what kind of power this place has. And we can't get that if you shoot him!"

"Oh," the man said again, rubbing the red mark on his greasy forehead. The first man rolled his eyes wearily. He turned back to watch the commodore climb up onto a horse and leave the governor's place.

"We just have to sit and wait."

--

James automatically pulled Maria back towards the harbor. No doubt Gillette had put more paperwork on his desk. He sighed loudly, grumbling. A noise along the lines of a _tap_ interrupted his unpleasant musings and a large droplet of water trickled from the tip of his hat to run onto the top of his forehead. Reining Maria to a stop, he leaned his head back to look up at the sky as another large drop of water hit him between the eyes. Dark clouds had rolled in during his conference with Governor Swann.

"Bloody, twice-cursed, erratic Caribbean weather," he hissed to himself, kicking Maria into a canter. The pair had just made it back into town when, slowly and surely, the rain began to fall in a steady downpour. Without a rain cloak, James found himself soaked within a few minutes. Maria shied a little to the right as a streak of lightning blinded her for a moment. The few people left in the street either had no shelter or were in the process of scurrying for some. Many headed for the local pubs.

No wind picked up so the sudden storm was nothing to worry about as far as the ships' safety went. They'd weathered a few storms and a little thunderstorm wasn't going to hurt them. Tapping his mount's heels a little harder, James turned Maria towards his office. It was much closer, not to mention dry. Heading back for the house would probably only get him sick, knowing his luck.

It took maybe three more minutes to get to the snug little building. Leaving Maria under a dry overhang, James headed inside shaking water from his hat and feet. A contemplative expression furrowed his brow as he searched for a possible reason for a rebellion. If he remembered correctly, Jamaica had been under Spanish rule before England stepped in. The Spaniards had taken the natives as slaves. Of course, the Spaniards were pushed out of Jamaica and their slaves disappeared and later resurfaced as the Maroons. There had been eerie rumors of the slave descendants killing any white-skinned man who crossed their path. Perhaps it was this group who was provoking this 'rebellion'.

The only noise in his office was the rain pounding on the roof and the occasional burst of thunderous noise. A particularly loud boom rattled the floorboards as he opened the door. James seemed indifferent to it all, lost in thought. Unconsciously, he removed his soaked jacket and hung the garment, hat next to it, over another rarely used fireplace. Of course, he forgot to light the fire. Water dripped randomly from his shirt sleeves and onto the hard wood floor, leaving a trail of droplets from the door to the fireplace.

He turned to make for his desk when the lightning-outlined silhouette of a person invaded his vision. The commodore almost jumped about a foot in the air. One hand made for his pistol automatically as he stammered out a "W-w-who?"

"Don't shoot!" Melissa Hart rushed forward into cleared focus, one hand clutched over her heart. Immediately, James relaxed and his breath whooshed out all at once.

"Good God, Miss Hart!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "What are you doing in my office?" The declaration and demand were rather rash acts on his part but they were out before he could stop himself.

"Oh Commodore, it's you! I came to extend an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Anderson for afternoon tea. But the storm came upon me so fast I had no choice but to stay here. I had planned to wait it out and was looking out that window," she gestured to the big bay window situated behind his desk, "when you came in. I must not have heard you over the thunder."

"Ah." It was the only semi-reply he could muster, having found his slightly frazzled mind devoid of anything more intelligent.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not, Miss Hart." Manners and propriety all came rushing back as the pounding in his chest slowed. He reached to his right and pulled a vacant chair from before the fireplace. "Please, have a seat." She nodded, smiling slightly and accepting the chair. His heart not hammering as much, James maneuvered around to the other side of his desk. "You'll have to forgive my humble appearance. I was also caught unawares by the storm," he muttered, flushing red as he noticed the wet shirt clinging to him. Still slightly preoccupied with his thoughts, he bent over his desk to investigate the pile of papers on it. They hadn't been there before he left for the governor's. Gillette came to mind.

"Not a problem, Commodore," she replied warmly. Her answer was a curt nod. And, apart from the rain on the roof, there was silence. Melissa relaxed a bit, leaning back in her chair and casting a brown hued eye about the office. She would have compared it to James' home if she'd ever seen it. Sparsely decorated, there were a few odd nails actually sticking at odd angles from the walls. Must have been left over from the former resident.

The sound of paper being crumpled and tossed against a wall brought her attention back to the man behind the desk. His tall frame was bent almost double over the desk, nose to ink with a long, loquacious looking document. She was about to suggest a light when he glanced up at her. "Would you mind lighting that lamp, Miss Hart?" James asked, gesturing towards a small hurricane lamp on the corner of the desk. Melissa looked at him, almost startled. "You know how to light a lamp?" he queried after a moment, noticing her expression.

"Y-yes, I do. I just hadn't expected such a request. Do you have any matches?" He rummaged haphazardly through a desk drawer and produced a booklet of the things.

"Such a request? You make it sound as if I was…" he paused for an appropriate phrase, not finding one, "…asking you to marry me or something." The latter statement faded slightly as he turned his attention back to the paper he held. She gave a slightly amused chuckle as light grew steadily from the lamp having been successfully lit.

"Oh no. I was merely surprised because most men treat me like a piece of porcelain instead of a human being. The last request asked of me was if I needed help pouring my tea."

He gave an amused snort, eyes focused on another sheet of parchment. "I merely find listening to such talk annoying." A short chortle escaped him. "Especially if the woman receiving it is as liberated as you."

She put forth an expression of mock surprise. So the man had a personality. Just last night, he had seemed rather...dull. "Liberated! That's a new one." This time the commodore actually looked up at her for longer than a second.

"What, no one's referred to you as liberated?"

"Not exactly," she said, a rather smarmy smirk on her face. He shrugged once, a half grin creasing his own features as he turned his attention back to the document.

"Then forgive my bold speech, Miss Hart."

"Please, call me Melissa."

"I'd rather not."

"And why is that?"

"As a close associate of mine has preached, I say propriety."

"Is that what you always say?"

James looked up at her again with a mixture of cleverness and curiosity, one hand reaching for a quill and ink well. "Perhaps," he replied after a moment. Melissa made a noise of amusement and looked around the room again. There was silence again. Outwardly, she seemed involved with studying the office's details. Inwardly, she was secretly overjoyed at having found someone to banter with. The conversation hadn't lasted maybe a minute and James Norrington had proved himself a worthy warrior in the battle of wits; short, quick, and to the point.

He had already reached the last of the documents on the desk when she noticed him sneer. The commodore grumbled slightly, straightening and walking over to where his jacket hung on the mantle. "Something wrong?" she queried, turning in her chair to watch him fold and place the paper in an inside pocket. James glanced at her over his shoulder and seemed to be judging if she was trustworthy.

"There have been reports of Jamaican 'rebels' attacking nearby forts. This is the second notification I've received today."

Melissa started in actual surprise and seemed unsettled by the piece of information. "What?" she exclaimed. "T-that's absurd!"

"I only half agree. They have the motive."

"What would that be?"

"When Jamaica was first settled upon, it was by the Spanish. They took the natives there at the time as slaves. When England came to claim some of the newly discovered land, Jamaica was at least liberated from the Spaniards. But, I've heard of some men who've taken slaves as well. The Jamaicans only need the right leader to bring Port Royal and the other forts to their knees."

"Would it be that simple?" he heard Melissa ask in an odd tone. James didn't notice it.

"Well, admittedly…yes. A surprise attack yesterday would have caught us off our guard. There have been events like it in the past." He wasn't about to mention the embarrassing ordeal with the _Black Pearl_ but the memory rose afresh in his mind. "But, and thanks to the quick reports from the two attacked ports, we know that there is undoubtedly an attack planned for Port Royal. We will be ready this time."

Melissa had regained her smooth composure. "You seem to have a lot of faith in your men, Commodore."

"And why not? They've all served staunchly before the mast and I have letters of recommendation for each of my officers."

"How…" she paused, white teeth flashing in a smile, "unconventional of you."

"Now you're calling _me _liberated. You have reason to doubt the King's Navy?"

"Perhaps," she said with a coy smile, a touch of coolness in her tone. James shruggeded and took the reply as the end of the conversation.

--

"Madame Aleale! Madame Aleale!" The frantic voice of the greasy little Englishman reached the Jamaican woman's ears despite the noise of the off-to-the-side tavern. A slew of mostly men (pirates and the like) were drinking, laughing and carrying on. However, the noise was immediately silenced as the little man skittered to a halt several drunkards away from the make-shift 'throne' Aleale was perched on.

The dark eyed gaze that pierced the man through was ice cold, eyes mere slits under a delicate brow. Skin with the semblance of dark velvet was stretched over high set cheekbones giving the woman the expression of royalty. Her hair had been done in hundreds of braids and was pulled loosely back from her seemingly stone-etched face. Aleale was dressed in a loose white shirt, a deep green vest fastened tight to her torso. Baggy pants fell to her ankles and a pair of tattered sandals was on her feet.

"What brings ye here, Walters, raisin' a racket dat would awake Davy Jones himself?" she demanded.

"It's urgent! The men you sent to Fort Smalle and Fort Ballon were seen and reported before they could intercept the messengers!"

The faintest of emotion expressed itself on Aleale's face. "Dis is unexpected. I had thought bettah of my men dan dat. Some man find them so dhey be punished." Immediately, almost half of the men in the tavern exited.

The accented man seen earlier with the Englishman appeared behind him, soaking from the rain. Aleale fixed her steely gaze on him. "Hakim, our plans are tah be pushed forward. Summon de Captain; our attack is to be carried out widin the next t'ree days. Do I make mehself clear?"

Hakim bowed. "Crystal clear, madame," he replied and left again.

"Push forward the plans?" the Englishman queried. Aleale looked at him again, expression emotionless.

"Ye doubt meh decision, Mistah Walters?" The man stammered, fingering the stained collar of his black jacket.

"N-no, madame. I only just-" His sentence stopped as Kipling fell backwards onto the floor, a bullet hole in his chest. Aleale held the pistol to her lips, blowing the smoke from the barrel.

"We can't afford tah have doubters, Mistah Walters." She raised her voice to address the entire room. "All 'a ye, ready ye weapons and selves. We've a port to dismembah in t'ree days!"

---

AN: Ah, another action-less dribble. Forgive me! I promise, things will be picking up in the next chapter.

-giggles- I have just recently found out that Port Royal is an actual place. Go figure. I've also found a partial time line of the port- some of its 'wicked' history will come into play in this story. It's not specifically on Port Royal but it provides a background for my plot. Well, at least a little. Of course, I find myself woefully behind since there's been two people already declare they knew about Port Royal. –makes a face-

Anyway, thanks to the reviewers Erica and Oriana8 and anyone else I have forgotten to mention.


	4. Chapter Four

AN: I'm only putting my author's note up top to warn you of a long chapter. At first, it's kind of slow. But, things are starting to pick up and I'm sure you don't want to hear me ramble after reading it all. You'll hate me for the ending, though. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible, Erica!

Chapter Four – _Retentissant Crescendo_

The storm dwindled down into a heavy drizzle by six o'clock that evening. The clouds still hung low and grey over the port no thunder or lightning made itself present. During the storm one part of James' mind said 'It's only rain and a bit of wind. Why not just go back to work?' But the other more logical side argued that he shouldn't leave Melissa Hart alone. This side seemed not to trust the woman completely. There was still that certain air about her that made him uneasy at times. But, her charm was undeniable even to him.

The two people in the commodore's office had been chatting on and off during the storm. Miss Hart had been asking many questions about the quality of the soldiers in Port Royal, how many there were, what kind of power the great ships in the harbor bore, and a number of things of similar comparison. It was an odd subject for a lady to question. The atypical topic disturbed James slightly. However, the commodore answered them but, only to a point; he had no wish for anyone outside the tight-knit circle of officers and town leaders to know what the navy in Port Royal was capable of. He hadn't made the place civilized just to give away his method of making it so. Even if the person he spoke to was the charismatic Melissa Hart.

The witty, almost cool demeanor Melissa carried had been steadily sliding away to a more jovial side. She spoke rather openly of her family after James managed to scoot the conversation from navy to personal.

It was the slacking of the rain against the roof that turned his attention from her. James thumbed his watch cover open, glanced at the time, and then shut it almost as soon as he'd opened it. A disapproving expression set his lips into a thin line. "Regrettably, as much as I've enjoyed this little chat, I must see back to my duties. I must have lost track of the time…" He rose from the chair behind his desk and strode over to the still empty fireplace. The reminder of 'duty' had suddenly turned the commodore back into that strict, almost unfeeling man she'd bumped into earlier that day. Melissa rose as well with a small sigh, pulling the hood of her cape over her head. She'd had a feeling this would happen. He'd actually appeared to be listening when she spoke, nodding or agreeing or adding in a comment where he felt necessary. By this time, she had suddenly realized how smoothly he'd shifted the topic away from the King's Navy. And away from her goal. He didn't trust her.

James was sliding his arms into the still-damp sleeves of his jacket when he spoke. "Where are you staying? There's no sense for you walk back in the rain."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly trouble you. Besides, the Andersons had invited me to tea. It's only a short walk from here."

"It's not a problem, Miss Hart," James replied as he shrugged into his jacket, simultaneously setting his hat on his head. "It's the least I could do in return for your 'impeccable' timing last night." He was mentioning the dance and the escape from Richard Stevens. Melissa chuckled warmly. "Though you may be a bit late."

"I suppose you're right," she said. "I won't be late, though. They eat dinner early and had invited me for afterwards. This is actually perfect timing." She knew of course, he was only being polite by offering the ride to Anderson's.

The commodore grabbed a rain cloak from a hanger by the door, throwing it over his shoulders. Melissa hesitated at the door and noticed him check the inside pocket of his jacket. The sight of the rebel report seemed to jog James' memory. And, for a moment, he paused to consider something.

His idea had been first to stop by Governor Swann's to drop off the report with the intention of returning after Miss Hart was seen back to the Andersons'. But, as she had said, the place was only a few blocks away, while the governor's was on the outskirts of the town.

The commodore strode towards the door and opened it for her. It led onto a small porch that overlooked the harbor. From the porch ran some steps. Melissa walked out onto the covered entrance. Rain still fell. Though it wasn't nearly as bad as an hour before, she would have preferred it to have stopped. Mentally, she kicked herself for not bringing anything more weather worthy. She heard James lock the office door behind them, then turn to step by her and head down the steps.

Her own expression disapproving of the rain, she followed after him. The pair moved swiftly around one side of the building where James' horse stood tied to a post. The mare was munching placidly on some grass that grew between the base of the office building and the street. Her dry spot under the overhang was probably one of the more sheltered places within a twenty foot radius apart from the office and Maria enjoyed it thoroughly.

As James approached her, she showed some glee at seeing him. But, it changed to suspicion as she spotted the woman following close behind him. She snorted in contempt, nostrils flaring. Melissa came to a stop about a yard out of the horse's reach, eyeing the beast. "It doesn't bite, does it?"

"No, _she_ doesn't," James replied, loosening the knotted reins. He jerked slightly on the thick leather strips, shooting a commanding glare towards the mare. Melissa was amazed at how human-like the animal acted. The bay snorted again but ducked her head slightly and turned away from Melissa.

"Incredible," she muttered as she walked almost timidly towards the horse. James was hooking one foot into a stirrup and hauled himself up easily. Maria turned slightly and halted broadside to Melissa.

"We get a lot of that," he replied with a half weary expression. He offered a hand to Melissa. Still keeping a wary eye on the horse, she gripped it firmly with one hand while the other lifted her skirt slightly so she could step up into the stirrup. Scooting into a side-saddle position behind James, Melissa rested one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She felt him stiffen slightly at the contact. "Are you…all set?" he queried.

"I think so," she replied unsurely, looking balefully down at the street.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

"No!" Melissa declared immediately. "It's just…I haven't exactly ridden a horse in some time."

"Forget how high up they were?" he replied. Melissa could practically hear the smirk that creased his features even though she couldn't see it. She glared at the back of his head.

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"Hold on, then." She barely had time to grip his shoulder tightly before he poked the horse with one heel, sending the bay into a canter.

--

"Dey aren't headed for his house." Aleale watched from the corner of a candle shop about a hundred yards from the office building. She wore no protection from the rain but she seemed oblivious to the water running down her face. "You tink dat Spaniard gonna stay to her word?" Her normally dulcet voice rang with annoyance and her eyes flashed. "She's gettin' too close to 'im," the woman finished, glaring over one shoulder. "I don' need 'er tah tell me dat. I got eyes. And so far, we haven't gotten a lick of information from 'er on da port." She glared over her shoulder. "What say ye tah dat, captain?"

"The girl doesn't matter. As long we can be rid of that commodore, she ain't important." The man that stepped up beside Aleale did not return her pointed glare and kept his own yellow-eyed gaze on James' horse until it disappeared behind a corner. His very appearance had intimidated many of the tougher men in Aleale's company but the woman had not been afraid, declaring he was only a pirate. She had chosen to ignore the fact he was Kordell Dantes, pirate captain of the _Winged Demon_. His yellow-green eyes had given him the nick name Dantes the Devil. Dark in appearance and ruthless in manner, Dantes wore all black. No flamboyant decorations littered his person.

He'd built a reputation pillaging the American coast and was now setting his sights on the Caribbean. But, many of the defaced crews of some of the more well-known captains warned him of the man who'd all but crushed the pirate opposition within the Spanish Main. So, Commodore James Norrington was his only obstacle in taking control of Jamaican waters.

"Mebbe not tah ye but I gots soldiers to tink of. Ye only want de Spanish Main to be free of dat man. We want our country back from de whole blasted lot of dem. And since we bof want de same man dead…?" She crossed her arms over her chest irately. "Melissa Hart's part in dis plot is biggah dan you tink. Doh she may be takin' a mighty long time in playin' it."

"Per'aps," Dantes replied. "But 'er attitude is too unpredictable. She seems liable to shift sides, me thinks. Once she proves to be of no further use…" He made a cutting motion with one hand under his chin. "We don't need to leave anyone alive what can get us unto trouble." Aleale snorted, seemingly satisfied as she waved a hand to dismiss the comment.

"It makes no difference tah me. She's just some half breed whelp lookin' for vengeance. I only allow 'er along because she helped wif Port Smalle ad Ballon. Besides, I've already sent Hakim for a few tings." An almost sly light entered her dark eyes. "Can't be too careful." Dantes snorted.

"Ye never told me Hart's full story."

"No, I didn't. She nevah told me de whole ting either. But as ye know, Melissa Hart is half Spanish. Well, her mother was the Spanish half. I knew dah woman personally. She was a pirate." Dantes nodded sagely. It was slightly uncommon to find a female pirate but when one did, they were rather commendable.

"I can see where this be goin'."

"So ye can. The mother was killed when her captain's ship was sunk by Englishmen. Melissa Hart learned of it and swore a terrible oath to get vengeance on da English."

"Yet she stays with her father?"

"Her fadah never knew and for dat, she couldn't blame 'im."

"She hasn't been married off yet?"

"Dhere have been attempts. At least t'ree young men died while engaged to 'er." Aleale curled a lip. "All of dem English. You can imagine how dhey died."

Dantes gave a low, menacing chuckle. "Too bad she's fickle." He shook his head. "Such a waste of ambition."

--

Maria was glad to be rid of the extra weight. Her canter was almost a smug little prance as she moved away from the Andersons' front door. Of the strange female that had ridden her, she was gone and Maria was content. No one else to compete with for her master's attention. All of this James could tell of his horse. That strange and rare affinity that sometimes appeared between a man and a beast was present between him and Maria. With Miss Hart back at Anderson's, he could now turn to more important matters. Like the preparation of his men.

He pushed Maria into a gallop and made for Weatherby Swann's. The report that was tucked snugly into his jacket seemed to nag at him, constantly reminding him that a threat was approaching Port Royal. And yet again, he'd be dealing with pirates. This new message spoke of a monster of a pirate's ship scooting into Fort Ballon's harbor just as the second rebel attack went into action. That made it rather obvious the pirates were dealing with the rebels. It was an unfamiliar ship but from the report, the men on duty described it as 'having seen many battles.' It was probably some pirates that had come to stake a claim in Jamaica. Well, they'd get no warm greeting from Port Royal as long as James Norrington was around.

James furrowed his brow, squinting slightly against the rain. And then there was the subject on whether or not they'd be able to send Ravel and Port Ballon some extra men in case the rebels decided to attack again. The decision would be partly up to the governor. James knew what kind of strength Port Royal possessed but he didn't want to stretch anything too much, just in case the rebels and pirates decided to attack them before they did the others again. And it was unlikely they'd go after the same port twice. Port Royal was by far the most productive and had become the principal port in Jamaica. It was more than likely the next target.

He was just turning Maria towards the governor's household when a person darted out from behind a corner, upsetting the horse. The bay whinnied in surprise and reared back. The action almost dislodged James from the saddle. From his haphazard position, he could just barely spot a bundle of something under his arm. Close on the person's heels came a pair of red coated soldiers – Murtogg and Mulroy. The two bumbling men hadn't even noticed him as they raced by, shouting. James' horse sidestepped nervously, tossing her head. He hushed her and patted the curving brown neck before him comfortingly. As he did, a blue-coated officer skittered to a stop on the cobble stones. The man was hatless. "Commodore!"

"What in God's name is going on, Hutchinson?" James demanded as he spotted the young lieutenant. "Who are those men after?"

"My apologies, commodore but someone's broken in to your office. A small sloop had been struck by lightning and I stopped by to see if you were there, for the thing was aflame even in this weather. The flames were posing a threat to the Dauntless, what was near by. But, as I went, I noticed the doors were ajar. I went in and found a man rummaging through your desk. We saw each other at the same time, I think." The man flushed slightly, glancing down at the street. "We pulled on each other simultaneously but he got the shot off first. I ducked and he ran."

James blanched. "What about those two?" he asked, meaning Murtogg and Mulroy.

"They had followed me to say that the fire on the sloop had been contained, saw the man, and chased after him."

"What did he take?" He couldn't help but panic slightly. If that man was working with the rebels then he had had access to the soldier and military personnel records of Port Royal. They'd know how strong they were…or how weak, depending on how many bodies the rebels had rallied to their cause.

"Nothing more than a few records of…"

Hutchinson's voice faded away. The man, being an officer, knew about the rebel attacks from Gillette. The lieutenant's eyes grew wide and James didn't need a direct answer to know what had gone missing. "What did the man look like?"

"I didn't get a clear look at him before he ran out but I could tell he was either a pirate or a rebel. He carried a lot of pistols across his chest."

Maria shifted nervously under him, eyes rolling slightly. "Gather a search party. And, if you take my meaning, I don't want it to be obvious. Be gentle." Hutchinson nodded vigorously. If worse came to worst, they'd have to search houses and the like for the man. "The last thing we need is panic among the civilians."

"What about Murtogg and Mulroy, sir?"

James sent a worried look in the direction the thief and two soldiers had disappeared. Hutchinson followed his gaze, blinking against the rain. "We'll just have to trust their judgement," he replied. "Snap to, lieutenant!"

The man jumped before saluting and taking off for the main barracks. James clapped his heels to Maria's sides and continued on to Governor Swann's but, this time at a much faster pace.

--

"So you're happy with William?"

"Yes."

"Even though he's a pirating blacksmith?" Elizabeth's father's tone of voice was far from serious and laughter twinkled in his eyes. Elizabeth gave him a pointed look sent the man into a chuckle. The father and daughter had finished dinner about a quarter of an hour ago. Steaming cups of tea sat before them now.

"Yes, even though he's a pirating blacksmith!" Weatherby Swann, leant back in his chair, chuckling as he sipped his tea. Her expression softened as she thought of her husband. "Will's more than I ever could have asked for."

"Though he's not exactly Prince Charming, he is of good character," he replied. But, as he spoke, an almost sorry look briefly flashed across his features. Over the rim of her tea cup, Elizabeth spotted it easily. Her formerly smiling visage faded slightly as she set the delicate cup on its saucer.

"You wish that I'd married the commodore, don't you?"

Governor Swann looked up at her. She couldn't quite identify the expression he wore.

"I won't lie to you, Elizabeth. I do wish you'd married Commodore Norrington. You wouldn't be living in a tiny apartment over a blacksmith's shop if you had."

Elizabeth smiled despite the half-uncomfortable topic. They'd had this discussion before. "But I wouldn't be with the man I love. I wouldn't be as happy."

Her father was used to the conversation as well. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. I have to admit, you'd probably just get yourself into trouble more often. The commodore doesn't exactly frequent his household nearly as much as he does his work place and you'd have to entertain yourself."

"Me, get into trouble?" she joked, faking an incredulous expression. "You dare think that?"

"Elizabeth." Governor Swann's tone was serious but he smiled as he spoke.

"Yes, I know," she said with a sigh. "You're probably right, though. Trouble seems to find me wherever I go." Her father nodded. What with the previous drama, caught up in pirates and not seeing his daughter for what seemed like years had been unbearable. If only that Jack Sparrow hadn't shown up… No, it was wrong to blame the man. Even if he _was _a pirate. Elizabeth at least believed in him and if she did, so would Governor Swann.

He moved to speak again when a maid fluttered into the dining room. "Guv'nah, the commodore to see you."

"Speak of the devil," Elizabeth muttered into her tea cup. Her father shot her a stern look.

"Can it wait?"

"He says it's urgent and insists upon speaking with you, sir," the girl replied. Her gaze flickered to Elizabeth. "Alone."

"Very well. Elizabeth, if you'll excuse me…" He rose from his chair as the maid disappeared into the entrance hall.

Governor Swann found the commodore standing anxiously by the front doors, one foot tapping slightly and his arms crossed over his chest. As soon as he spotted the older man, James strode over to him. "What brings you here at this time of night? Nothing serious, I hope."

"Quite serious, actually," came the tart reply. James whipped the report from his jacket and handed it to him. "Port Ballon was set upon rather early this morning by rebels _and _pirates. I suspect the two are working together – the rebels need the firepower to remove the men from the fort and the pirates want control of the Caribbean. This is purely my speculation but I highly suggest we prepare for an imminent attack."

"S-so soon?" was all the governor could muster as he looked at the startling figures on the report.

"Immediately, if at all possible. My office has been broken into and the rebels may now know what we're capable of. There is a search party after the thief but I don't think they'll reach him in time."

The two men's eyes met over the top of the damp piece of parchment. The governor's was slightly startled and unsure; the commodore's was the exact opposite. Governor Swann's gaze turned away, his expression growing more decided as he spoke. "Do what you must. We don't need another catastrophe like that mess with the _Black Pearl._"

"My sentiments exactly, governor." And with that, James pivoted on one heel and threw the doors open. A gust of wind blew in as he did, lightning arching through the clouds once more and the rumble of thunder growing in their ears. The storm had regenerated and a storm of another kind was about to begin.

Elizabeth stepped out of the dining room just as the doors closed behind James. She found her father staring after the commodore. "Father?" she queried, walking up to him. "What's going on?" The puddle on the hard wood floor was unnoticeable and Elizabeth contemplated calling for someone to dry it up.

The governor didn't seem to acknowledge for a moment that Elizabeth had questioned him. "That man's sincerity frightens me," he said quietly, almost too quiet for Elizabeth to hear him.

"What? He hasn't done anything uncouth, has he?" she asked incredulously. James had changed in the past few years but the odd expression on Governor Swann's face startled her.

He did look at her finally. "Oh, no. Rather the opposite." All Elizabeth could summon for an answer was a confused expression. Seeming to come back to reality, her father smiled suddenly and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come. There's something I must tell you. I think our little port is about to go through the fight of its life."


	5. Chapter Five

AN: Oh boy, another long one. Lovin' the reviews, guys. I'll do my best to bring in some of the major movie characters but I'll have to figure how to do that first. Elizabeth and Will just kind of slide in automatically. Jack'll be the tough one. Luckily, I have some help with that!

Chapter 5 – _Volatil, Mouvement Un_

"Are you with us, Miss Hart?" Mrs. Anderson looked at Melissa over the rims of her glasses, a joking smile warming her pleasant features.

"Huh?" Melissa responded somewhat slowly. She hadn't been paying attention. Her gaze went from staring at the cup of tea in her hands to the three women staring at her. Beside Mrs. Anderson in seats of their own were her friends Mrs. Georgiana Abshire and Mrs. Nathalie Smith. The quartet of ladies was sitting a small sitting room. It was a bright, little room despite the cloudy weather outside.

Mrs. Anderson broke into a laugh but her companions merely sent strange at each other. Melissa flushed as she let an embarrassed expression cross her face. "Forgive me, I'm a little distracted," she said. "Please, go on."

Her laugh fading away, Mrs. Anderson nodded. "As I was saying, I think this little port has grown a lot since its beginning."

"Oh yes, very much so," Mrs. Abshire said, bobbing her head. The blonde woman was a bit shallow.

"Indeed." Mrs. Smith sometimes seemed totally incapable of any emotion apart from indifference and dry sarcasm. Neither woman was very interesting on the outside. Melissa wondered why Mrs. Anderson was friends with them at all.

"Fletcher and I both think all it needs now is a concert hall and the place will be just like merry 'ol England," Mrs. Anderson added, mentioning Mr. Anderson. The captain was in the billiard room of the large manor, more than likely sharing some brandy with Mr. Abshire and Smith.

"Wouldn't that be fantastic!" Mrs. Abshire exclaimed. Mrs. Smith merely sipped her tea.

"A concert hall would make it seem more sophisticated," Melissa said past the rim of her tea cup. Though she was listening to the conversation, it was clear her heart wasn't quite in it.

"Port Royal? Sophisticated?" Mrs. Smith actually laughed. "The only reason this place sophisticated in the first place is because of the outstanding commodores we've had in charge here."

"You laughed, Nathalie," Mrs. Anderson said, a look of mock terror on her face. "And you expressed a positive opinion. I think I shall faint from surprise."

"That's not fair, Rebecca," Mrs. Smith said, her stone-like composure returning but a twinkle never left her eye. "I have opinions plenty. The only reason there aren't more positive ones is because there's nothing positive here to talk about. Apart from the Navy of course. Without former Commodore O'Hara and current Commodore Norrington, this port would be as pirate infested as that Tortuga place."

"But the scenery!" Mrs. Abshire said brightly. "It's much more exotic than England."

Mrs. Smith waved away the comment and didn't find it worth replying. Mrs. Anderson chuckled her signature, flowing chuckle as she set her tea cup back on its saucer. She glanced at Melissa who had been mostly silent.

"What on earth could be distracting you, Melissa? I honestly don't remember you ever being this quiet before." Mrs. Anderson was referring to the previous times they'd spent together in that very same room with the very same company. The captain's wife was one of the first people she'd met upon arriving in Port Royal and the two became fast friends.

Melissa shook her head, waving away the question. "It's nothing. Really." Mrs. Abshire jumped upon her reluctant answer.

"I bet it's a man."

"You always say that, Georgiana" Mrs. Smith said, rolling her eyes. Her friend snorted indignantly.

"I may say it often but…" Her bright blue eyes locked onto Melissa. "Did you see how she reddened when I mentioned it?" Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Smith both looked at Melissa, who had indeed turned a light shade of pink, her dark eyed gaze suddenly on the floor.

"Is this true?" Mrs. Anderson asked. Melissa hesitated before she answered. Her thoughts had been on a particular man but they'd been almost far from admiring. No one apart from Aleale and Captain Dantes knew of her charade. Their underlings had heard of a spy sent in among the upper-class to get information but had never seen him. Or her in this case. The Commodore was just another target, just another Englishman in the way of her revenge.

But, now that she thought about it, James Norrington had been one of the more interesting men she'd helped bring down. She was half surprised he wasn't married.

"W-well…"

"She has been spending a lot of time recently with the Commodore," Mrs. Smith mentioned. Rebecca and Georgiana shared a gasp, looking for the world like a pair of young friends having just been told a tremendous secret. Mrs. Abshire giggled, trying to hide it behind one hand.

"You fancy James Norrington!"

"No! I…admire him, is all," she replied, trying to regain her well-known composure. "I've heard non-stop about his reputation for making Port Royal the way it is." This was true, actually. Aleale's company, being locals, had heard frequently of the 'pirate killer' and told a few of Dantes' more gullible crew members some exaggerated stories of Norrington. One mentioned something about an entire ship's crew being hung by their toes from a ceiling.

"Oh, we believe you, Melissa," Mrs. Abshire said, winking conspicuously at the other two. Mrs. Anderson rolled her eyes, chuckling. Mrs. Smith merely shrugged.

"But in all seriousness…Commodore Norrington is a fine man, one certainly worthy of _your_ admiration," Mrs. Anderson said. Mrs. Abshire agreed heartily and even Mrs. Smith nodded admittedly.

"And I've noticed that the Commodore hasn't exactly protested your company either. He seemed rather eager last night to join you for a dance…" Mrs. Smith added.

"Don't forget this afternoon either. Melissa _was_ dropped off here by Commodore Norington."

"Oh yes!"

"Quite right."

Melissa couldn't help but laugh at their antics. But, she also couldn't help but agree with them.

--

Hutchinson was having a devil of a time getting the soldiers and marines moving. Most of them, not quite respecting the timid little man, half ignored his orders and dilly-dallied in gathering themselves. Hutchinson was practically beside himself, a rare show of temper turning his face red. He was about to shout the order again when the Commodore, with Captain Anderson in tow, appeared in the barracks doorway. James' unmistakable bellow sent the loafing men into quick action.

"On your feet, men! I want movement! This is the kind of attitude that got us beaten by pirates a few years ago!"

"Thank you, sir!" Hutchinson exclaimed, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Learn to be forceful, lieutenant and this could have been prevented," was his only reply as James pivoted on one heel to head up towards the ramparts. Fletcher Anderson almost had to jog to keep up with the taller man who was moving rapidly up the stairway.

"Sir, explain this to me again. You didn't quite clarify what this is all about on the way over," he puffed, taking the stairs two at a time. The rain was beginning to slacken again and the skies overhead were dotted erratically with clouds. The sun was descending and cast a pinkish, orange glow on the horizon.

James halted at the top of the stairs, looking down upon the captain. "You know about the rebels?"

Anderson nodded. "Explicitly?"

"Gillette told me all about it."

"Has he told you they're working with pirates?"

"No!"

"They are," James concluded, moving towards the edge of the ramparts. He grabbed a small, gold telescope from a soldier passing by and raised it. "Fort Ballon was set upon by a combined group of Jamaican rebels and pirates early this morning around four a.m. It took several hours to find a man travel worthy to send a messenger and then for the man to get here."

"Is that all?"

"On my way to Governor Swann's, I was intercepted by Hutchinson. You know him. My office was broken into and some important records were stolen. I'm sure you can guess which ones, Fletcher."

The captain nodded. "Unfortunately, I can, sir." The man moved over to stand beside James, who had lowered the telescope. He clasped his hands behind his back, glancing up at the commodore. "So the pirates and rebels know how many strong and how powerful we are. They successfully brought down two almost equally powerful forts in the past 24 to 36 hours and their sights are now set on Port Royal. You say the rebels want us out of Jamaica and or dead for 'enslaving' the people-"

"More than likely dead…"

"-and the pirates want us out so they can have free reign over the Caribbean without us breathing down their necks. And the only reason they attacked Fort Smalle and Fort Ballon was to keep them from providing assistance to us when they attack." Anderson laughed. "What a pickle this is!"

The captain's quiet, jovial attitude broke through James' worry and let a quiet chuckle escape him. The man had practically hit the mark with his statement. "I suppose so." But, his tone still remained concerned.

"Bloody let them try, I say," came a new voice. James and Fletcher turned to find another captain coming up the stairs.

"You always say that, Roger," Fletcher said with a wry grin. Captain Roger Cook chortled heartily as he came to stand beside his fellow captain. Cook almost dwarfed the slight of build Anderson, being one of the more muscle-bound officers in the port. His ruddy face split into a roguish grin.

"Well, I'm right ain't I? So what if that Black What's-It thing basically sacked us a few years ago? I'd like to see how many strong these rebels are if they think they can best _us_, the pirate-cleansers of the Spanish Main."

"At least you two are being positive about it," James said exasperatedly.

"That's partly the reason we're not commodores, Commodore," Fletcher said, grinning. "Yours is the type of breed that stays serious in all occasions and that's what the position calls for. The captains are the ones that stay captains because we're the type of breed that enjoys commanding a ship. You control the fleet, a rather hefty job in itself, and we just control the bits and pieces of it."

"Your philosophy astounds me, Anderson," James said.

"Bloody well put, man."

"You're welcome, sir," Fletcher said. His smiling visage suddenly melted into a serious one. "Now, you were going to issue any orders?" The conversation took a one-eighty and all joking was put aside. Even Cook settled into an unsmiling expression. James nodded curtly.

"Of course. I want two ships watching the mouth of the harbor at all times until this mess is cleared up. Expect the attack within at least two days. Best make the ships the uh…the _Dauntless_ and the _Expedition_." The second ship mentioned was a squat two-master that had just come in from England several months ago. Captain Cook had arrived from the mother country as the proud commander. "Make sure the _Intrepid_ stays secure. I don't need to loose another ship like the _Interceptor_."

The two captains nodded grimly. No one needed reminding how the 'fastest ship in the Caribbean' was lost. "Take whatever crew members you want but have a few marines in tow as well. You have your orders." The men saluted smartly and moved off, leaving James alone on the rampart. Soldiers scurried here and there, setting up positions and double checking the cannons arranged nearby. Scouts were set up along the wall, watching the horizon. Farther along, a lieutenant was overseeing the installation of a new cannon. James could recognize his gaunt figure even at a distance.

"Hayward!"

The man paused and looked over his shoulder before recognizing the commodore's voice. Nodding to the men with the cannon to continue, he headed over. Hayward was one of the more grim-faced of his officers and dark of complexion. "You called, Commodore?"

"Yes. Make sure the scouts and soldiers on this wall are replaced about every three and a half to four hours. We don't need men falling asleep at their posts. Have the replacements come and receive them."

"Yes, sir," was the reply and Hayward moved off again. James cast one more look around the wall and, seeming satisfied, headed for the stairs. Hutchinson would have his search party out by now.

Various military thoughts running rampant through his mind, James didn't notice the red-coated man in front of him until he almost walked into him. "Sir, there's someone to see you."

"Who?"

"A Miss Hart." James groaned slightly.

"Where is she?"

"Waiting below, sir."

"Thank you. Carry on." The man headed down along the wall and James moved down the stairs. Sure enough, as soon as his foot touched down on the floor, Melissa Hart was striding beside him. She had an easier time of keeping up with him than Anderson, being a little bit longer of leg. This was what he didn't need; a female that asked too many unsettling questions following him around. "You have something to say, Miss Hart?" James queried. Her attitude seemed a bit agitated.

"What is all this preparation for? I'm to be leaving tomorrow morning but Captain Anderson is saying I may not be able to. What is the reason?" She whirled around in front of him and stopped. James halted, noting the angry expression she wore. A sour one of his own wrinkled his features.

"Not so charming now, are you?" he muttered, stepping around her. The woman was making a bit of a scene and a few men were staring. "Let's continue this discussion outside?"

"It'd be my pleasure," she spat, following him. James didn't stop until he was outside and out of earshot of the barracks. The rain had almost completely died out by this time and the finest of drizzles barely dampened the still-wet Port Royal.

When he did stop, he turned around to come face to face with Melissa. "Now, what it is you want to speak about?"

"Why would I not be able to leave port tomorrow?" she demanded. Her arms crossed over her chest and she would have been looking down her nose at him had she been taller. James grumbled slightly at having to explain the rebel and pirate situation for the third time today. When he spoke his tone was short and impatient.

"To put it simply, those rebels and pirates have targeted Port Royal, there are already rebels in the town, they've stolen important military records, and are now possibly preparing for the destruction and or downfall of Port Royal. For a ship to leave now, there could be rebel spies aboard and…" He paused, suddenly unsure if he should continue. Melissa fixed him with a glare.

"Go on!"

"And I do not particularly trust you," James finished, returning the glare.

"Then just give up!" she exclaimed. The commodore was taken aback. This was not the reaction he expected. "You're naval force here is pathetic compared to what I've heard about the attacks on Smalle and Ballon. You and I both know it. You're condemning these men to death."

"Do not try to give me orders, Miss Hart," James replied heatedly, suddenly angry. "That's only your opinion. Plus," he snorted, "just how sure are you that you're right about Port Royal's military strength? Did you think that I'd give you every specific?"

Melissa's expression was dumbfounded for a second as her mind wrapped around the statement. "Y-you lied to me!"

"I did and I'll do it again. Miss Hart, your questions crossed the line. No common woman asks how many long nines a war ship has or how many hands it takes to work them!"

"No common woman in your biased English standards!" she snapped. James opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted him. "No! Don't say another word to me. Whatever friendship we had going is over." As Melissa spoke her final word, she whirled around and was gone. James seethed for a moment, silently cursing the woman up and down before heading back to the barracks. His anger controlled, he thought back on the conversation. Two potential volatile personalities butting heads made for an equally explosive argument, just demonstrated. And now, he almost felt sorry. Melissa was right in the aspect of 'biased English' standards. The laws of propriety reduced some women to gossiping mindless drones who complained even when the smallest of annoyances troubled them. It was rare to find a woman like Elizabeth or Melissa and now, for the second time, they were gone. Yes, regret was what James Norrington felt as he set foot back in the fort.

--

Melissa's anger was quickly forgotten as she mentally checked off her objective. Cut ties with important figure. It was regrettable but she couldn't let her feelings get in the way. Her mind switched into mission-mode. The unsettling news that Port Royal was fully prepared for an attack would put Aleale's plans back a step. Or so she thought.

The rebel base of Port Royal looked deserted on the outside. The windows were dark, painted over with pitch. Silence permeated the air. Melissa paused before the door, her head bowed in thought. Against her will, thoughts of the recent conversation…well, argument ran through her mind. She put one hand on the door knob and glanced over her shoulder back towards the fort. "What am I getting myself into…?" Melissa asked herself before turning the knob and stepping through the door.

The inside was quite the opposite of the outside. Men bustled about carrying rifles and weapons. Amidst the organized chaos, Melissa spotted Aleale bent over a table littered with papers. The man Hakim hovered over her shoulder.

"Madame!" Melissa called, moving over. The other woman didn't even glance at her. "Madame Aleale, I have-"

She was interrupted as Aleale raised a hand. "Dun tell me. Port Royal is preparin' for battle agin' Jamaican rebels and pirates. And dhey have sufficient forces to either defeat us or put up an' 'ell of a fight doin' so before dey're defeated." Her cold, dark eyes locked on to Melissa. "Am I right?"

"H-how did….you…?"

"You was movin' a bit too slow fer my taste so I had Hakim get me de information. You played de distraction so he could do so." A mocking smile creased her dark features. "Well done."

Melissa's own dark gaze practically penetrated Hakim, who merely grinned in response. "You used me as a mere distraction?" Aleale's eyes narrowed at Melissa's defiant tone and she straightened, one hand moving to the pistol tucked into her belt.

"You challengin' me?" Her voice was low and dangerous. All movement ceased within the hideout, all eyes angled towards the two women. Melissa gazed steadily back at Aleale.

"We're both sticklers with a sword and pistol, are we not?" The click of the pistol cocking was simultaneous with its raising, the business end aimed between Melissa's eyes.

"You're a bold woman, Melissa but I'm de leader of dis outfit. You play de actress whilst I direct. Don' forget dat. But, if you start to prove dat you're more trouble dan you're worth, I may just have to consider a new actress. Do ye want me to do that? I thought you wanted revenge against de English, not side wiv dem."

"I do want revenge and don't think for a second I'll side with them," Melissa replied, her gaze faltering and falling to the floor. It was obvious she was struggling with herself. "Forgive me."

The pistol went back onto Aleale's belt and she turned back to Commodore Norrington's records. "Dhat's what I thought. Hakim, what did ye do wiv does two red coats?" Movement started up again in the hideout, the tense moment over.

"Zey are tied up in the back, madame, as you ordered."

--

Murtogg and Mulroy were indeed in the back, tied together and stuffed into a broom closet. "Get your foot out of my back!" Mulroy exclaimed, jostling his companion with his elbow.

"My foot ain't in your back. Your foot's in my back!" Murtogg retorted.

"Oh, great _come_back."

"Yours wouldn't have been any better!"

"'Ey!" The deep, Jamaican voice came from the other side of the closet door. "Quit de squabblin'!"

Almost immediately, the two men quieted down. It was a few moments before Murtogg spoke again. This time, he whispered. "You know, a little bit ago, I thought I heard someone I recognized."

"What?" Mulroy replied, brow furrowing.

"W-when everything got all quiet…it was two women talkin'. That rebel and then someone else."

"Well, what-who did they sound like?"

"Have you seen that woman that's been hangin' around the Commodore?"

"Miss Hart?"

"Yeah, her!"

Mulroy rolled his eyes. "Are you daft? What would Miss Hart be doin' here?"

"I dunno! Maybe she's a spy."

"A spy. Puh."

"Hey, I was right about that Jack Sparrow and how he came to commandeer a ship."

"That's only once. And besides, you don't know if it really is Miss Hart."

"I still say it's her."

"You would." They lapsed into silence again. The sounds of the rebels moving around outside the closet was close to raucous. Mulroy glanced over his shoulder at the back of Murtogg's head. "All their preperation's makin' me feel useless."

"Aye, me too."

"Come on. Help me stand up."

"What for?"

"There's a big gap in the door near the top and I wanna see what's out there."

"You didn't get a good 'nuff look on the way in?"

"Come on!" Murtogg grumbled but complied. Miraculously, the two managed to get to their feet despite being tied to each other's backs. Mulroy stood on tip toe to peer though the sliver of a gap between the closet door and the wall. The room was alive with bodies moving around with weapons, rope, hooks, and a number of different things. "Whoa…"

"I wanna see!"

"Hold on!" He could just barely spot the rebels' leader shuffling through some papers. No doubt the records stolen from Commodore Norrinton's office. There was the thief beside her and beside him…Mulroy gasped.

"What!" Murtogg hissed.

"You were right! There's Miss Hart!" He didn't get another look at Melissa Hart before Murtogg had spun them around and was looking through the gap himself. Mulroy found himself staring at the back of the closet.

"Told you so," his companion said in a matter-of-fact tone. Mulroy wasn't listening. His brow was furrowed and his mind raced as Murtogg continued to look through the gap.

"W-we gotta alert the fort!"

"How are we s'pposed to that? Walk through the wall?"

"Maybe." Murtogg craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Mulroy and fixed him with a frightened look.

"You're scaring me."

"No, I'm serious. This place has got to be the oldest tavern in Port Royal. The walls can't be that sturdy. Rot would have gotten to 'em by now!" Murtogg was partially drug away from the door as the other man scooted forward to kick at the back of the closet.

"What if someone hears us?"

"What wif all that noise goin' on out there, they won't. Here, you try that wall." And so, the two captured men began working not knowing if it would be to any avail.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six – Volatil, Mouvement Deux

"This is a bi' of a quandary, innit?" a man asked his companion as he sauntered down the street towards Fort Charles. His weatherworn black tricorn hat was collecting small pools of moonlight atop his head. The skies had cleared considerably after the storm and the stars were twinkling. Underneath the terribly useful hat were long dark strands of hair in various dreadlocks and braids that sported beads, string, coins, and various other trinkets to remind him of what appeared to be a rather intriguing past. As he made his erratic way down the street, the various bangles jingled, creating a unique rhythm that he seemed to step in time to. Except for the hair and kohl lining his dark eyes, there really seemed to be nothing all that spectacular about the man walking through Port Royal as though he rented the place.

He was of average height and wore fairly common attire for those associated with life at sea: large boots, functional pants, a vest, loose and comfortable shirt, an overcoat, some rawhide on one of his palms to prevent against rope burns, a large red and white sash, and several belts. He was attractive, certainly, and seemed the type that _could_ stand out in a crowd if necessary, but as it was, he was no more interesting than anyone else outside on the nearly empty streets at this time of day.

"What?" his companion asked, getting the feeling that he was in for a bit of a lengthy explanation. He looked fairly disgusted at being in Port Royal and wore a scowl between his two graying muttonchops. Joshamee Gibbs had never been a fan of law since he'd been kicked out of the navy.

"Didn' you jus' overhear what I did?" Jack asked curiously, glancing towards his companion with a touch of incredulity in his dark and expressive eyes.

"O' course I did," Gibbs grumbled. "This Dantes fellow is the type tha' likes killing innocents by takin' over towns. So?"

Jack quirked one of his brows and stared at his first mate much like an uncle stares at his young nephew that had just said something highly improper. "Can't ye sense the moral ambiguity I'm in the midst of an' the terrible decision before me?" The look on Gibbs' face was answer enough. The pirate captain frowned, pausing near a building not too far from the dilapidated tavern where he and his loyal first mate had overheard the discussion between Dantes and his rather ferocious looking female partner while posing as part of the invasion force. The reason they were here was because the self-absorbed pirate captain had heard quite a lot about Dantes and liked to observe his competition with them unawares before actually running into them to see if they were truly a threat to his name or not. They'd followed Dantes' ship after spying it not too far from Tortuga three days back to satisfy Jack's insatiable curiosity. After leaving the _Pearl_ somewhere safe, Jack and Gibbs had followed a known member of Dantes crew to the eerie tavern. As this particular mission was just to find out information, Jack wasn't all that worried of being caught in a town where he ranked the highest on the most wanted list. Really, the idea of him hiding directly under Norrington's nose was brilliant. The reinstated man wouldn't dream Jack would be foolish enough to return.

"I don't see where a decision comes in, Cap'n. We learned wha' we wanted to, now it's time t' go back to the _Pearl_. Best not press our oft-times bad luck." Gibbs looked around anxiously, clearly not at ease like his old friend.

Jack smiled briefly before looking dreadfully serious as he calmly regarded his first mate. "An' leave these innocent an' unsuspecting people t' die?" he asked softly, in a tone of voice that terrified Gibbs. Jack hadn't been the same since they rescued him at World's End. It seemed his honest streak was more prominent than ever, which was a bit of a problem when you were partnered with someone such as Hector Barbossa. Jack paused for a second and then seemed to realize what a selfless and un-piratical statement that had been, so he smiled again. The smile clearly didn't reach his expressive eyes, for they still looked as though he were a two-year-old pointing out the obvious. "Er…I mean…don' we have some sort of moral responsibility t' come t' their aid? I'm sure they'd compensate us nicely fer our efforts."

Gibbs shook his head, clearly not liking where this seemed to be going. "It's a fool's errand, Jack!" he exclaimed. "Don' you remember what he did?"

Jack nodded, leaning against the building. "How could I forget?" Commodore Norrington had killed him by taking Jones' heart before Jack could negotiate. He'd been one of the ones responsible for what had happened to the captain afterward. The whole crew knew that whatever had happened to Jack while he was dead had changed him, but they had no idea what it was. He would never even mention it off-hand. If the conversation steered towards questions about it, he would grow terribly silent and reserved and would go do something peculiar like swab the decks.

"He'd do it again, you know tha' as well as I do. We're un'er no obligations whatso-"

Jack held up his hand. "Joshamee, Will an' Elizabeth live here. They saved my life, I've got t' be square wiv them someday…why not take out the competition as well?"

"You're daft," Gibbs announced, stepping away from the pirate as though he were a leper. "The momen' you step in'o tha' man's office, he'll shoot you."

"Death isn' _that _bad," Jack murmured very softly, putting his hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "I'm no' asking you to sacrifice your life fer somethin' you don' believe in, mate. Will you help me?" Gibbs was silent, so Jack added, "I won' think of ye any less if you refuse. Barbossa'll be a decent enough captain, I suppose, for both ships." The only way those two stubborn pirates had been able to compromise about the _Pearl _and her rightful captain was to find a ship better than the _Pearl_ for Barbossa to captain. They sailed under the same flag, though they generally pretended the other one didn't exist.

Gibbs shuddered at the thought. "Ye know as well as I do tha' I'd do anythin' t' help you," he admitted, with a frown. "I jus'…this is stupid."

"Duly noted." Jack grinned broadly, clearly pleased to see how loyal Gibbs truly was still. "Come on, then, le's go find my murderer, eh?"

"So you'll jus' be leavin' the poor captured soldiers t' their fate, then?" Gibbs asked as Jack started towards Fort Charles, not entirely keen on meeting a full regiment or two of soldiers head on.

Jack paused, pivoting about on his left foot to face his trusted first mate. As he was about to respond to the question, part of the tavern wall that he could see split open, revealing two red coats. "For some reason, I don' think we need t' worry abou' them," he remarked.

The two men's arguing could be heard plainly despite the fact they were speaking in hushed tones. "Move, blockhead."

"You move! My foot's stuck."

An assortment of grunts and insults flowed from the opening in the wall and after a few seconds, Murtogg and Mulroy tumbled out onto the street. "Blast, it's already night," Mulroy stated, trying to get to his feet. Murtogg spat out a mouthful of dirt he'd inhaled upon plowing the cobblestones with his nose.

"Well, get offa me and we'll leave!" He rolled over onto his side, bringing Mulroy with him.

"Damn this rope…"

"If only you'da not lost that knife."

"Oh, blame it on me, why don't you."

Jack and Gibbs watched the scene play out with amusement.

"Should we uh….?" The first mate jabbed a finger towards the two men. Jack shrugged.

"You mentioned 'em, mate."

By this time, Murtogg and Mulroy noticed the two pirates standing nearby. "Oi, you two!" Mulroy called out. "Give us a hand 'ere!" Jack smiled broadly, the gold decorating his teeth flashing in the moonlight.

"Don' think they recognize us, eh?" he muttered, elbowing Gibbs before moving off in an unbalanced stride towards the two tied up men. "You boys seem ta be in a bit of a pickle."

"Keep your voice down or they'll hear you!" Mulroy snapped. Jack came to a stop over the men, brow furrowing exaggeratedly.

"Oh, my mistake," he replied with a crooked smile, bending over Mulroy. The soldier stared at Jack for a moment like he'd just danced a jig singing Mary had a Little Lamb. Jack's gestured vaguely at the rope. "You wan' me to cut that fer ya?"

"Jack Sparrow."

"What?" Murtogg's loud question came from over Mulroy's shoulder. He honestly hadn't heard. Gibbs stepped up beside his captain, sword drawn. Jack had drawn himself up arrogantly, shooting one of those I-have-an-idea looks to his first mate. Gibbs stared at him a moment before he got the message. He returned the look with a disapproving expression but nodded reluctantly.

"Jack Sparrow?" The pirate gave a grunt of amusement. "Jack Sparrow's dead, mate. But, 'e does feel the need to visit an ol' friend. Bloody …Commodore Oh-What's-'Is-Face." He grinned broadly. "Savvy?"

Mulroy only stared at him, a befuddled expression on his face. He barely even registered a reaction as Gibbs cut the rope holding the two soldiers together. Murtogg got to his feet and had brushed himself off before he noticed the pirate. "J-Jack Sparrow!" he exclaimed, reaching for his weapon but remembering that the rifle was back in the rebel tavern. He kicked Mulroy, motioning for him to get up. "What are you doin' here?" he demanded, ignoring the fact that Jack should really should have been dead. "I outta arrest you!"

"Ah, but you won't!" Jack said, still grinning as he waved a finger in the air. "Care t' know why?"

"Why's that? I won't fall for any of your trickery, Sparrow!"

Jack motioned to Gibbs, who stuck his sword into his belt and pulled his pistol simultaneously. Murtogg's eyes crossed to look at the business end aimed between his eyes. "Oh."

--

The reputedly uncomfortable chair in James' office had never felt welcoming. But, as he sank into it, it felt better than any feather-stuffed bed this side of the Atlantic. Sliding the thing backwards, he propped his feet up on his desk and let himself sigh in relief. With preparations over with, all that had to be overseen was the changing of shifts between the watches and James left that with Gillette.

The gold pocket watch sitting in his jacket pocket was taken out and the delicately engraved cover popped open. Eight-thirty. James stifled a yawn as he set the watch back into its pocket. Now that the only sounds around him were crickets and the watch ticking, the frantic pace his mind had set several hours earlier began to ebb. But, before he settled into a half-sleeping state, James ran over his mental checklist once more. Number one on the list- prepare fort. He nodded to himself. Check. Set watches. Check. Search party. He paused. Hutchinson's group had returned but their search was to no avail. Neither thief nor missing soldiers turned up on their radar. James' brow furrowed but he checked it other nevertheless.

And that was it. The commodore settled a bit more into his chair, fingers laced and hands resting on his chest. Despite the rapid events that had taken place, he felt peaceful. The feeling may have been a mix of lack of sleep and the mouthful of liquor he'd tasted earlier to stay awake but no matter. With the passionate notes of Listz's _Andantino_ echoing in his mind, James drifted off.

"_James my boy, this is your future."_ It was the day of Edward Norrington's son's fifteenth birthday and the father and son stood at the mouth of a street that over looked the harbor of their hometown. The sun was shining, glinting off the harbor water. A clear azure hue had dominated the sky with not a cloud in sight. Edward cast an arm in the direction of the bustling harbor, towards the grand navy war ships, the quaint, characteristic merchant boats, and the dozen-man groups of sailors and military men moving back and forth along the docks. Edward snorted in half-amusement. "Well, maybe not harbor work but…" He nodded, meeting his son's enthusiastic gaze with a smile. "But, your destiny lies out on the open ocean. It's been this way since the very beginning of our family, James and you'll be continuing the tradition."

"I'll do it gladly," James replied readily, a confident expression brightening his features and making his eyes sparkle. He didn't have to look up to meet his father eye to eye. Edward Norrington was possibly the shortest of the three Norrington brothers, a fiery man only about five feet and four inches. His son took after Edward's brothers, tall and rangy. But, despite the commodore's small stature, he was held in no less respect. As Fredrick and George Norrington went inland to find their fortunes, Edward looked to the sea. There was a sea-faring streak that ran strong in the Norrington line, sometimes luring all of the sons to a navy life or sometimes only in one. The latter had affected only Edward and was doing the same for his son. James was not the oldest of his children, being the second born after his sister Margaret. After James came another girl, Eliza and then the youngest was Alexander.

Edward clapped his son heartily on the back at the boy's quick reply, laughing. "I had no doubt you would, James!" The lad's gaze turned back to the harbor as his father continued speaking. But, as he looked away, Edward Norrington's voice began to fade as if he was getting farther away.

"Come again, father?" James said, looking back to his parent. But, Edward continued talking and gesturing to the harbor, which was beginning to grow dark. James reached up to tap his father on the shoulder but his hand went right through. He tried to say something again but no sound came from his throat. He began to panic and a voice kept repeating, louder and louder in his mind, _"Commodore! Commodore!"_

A loud, persistent knocking jerked James from his dream and almost unsettled him from his chair. Looking around wildly, he found himself back in his office. At this observation, James drug a hand across his forehead and also found he had broken out in a cold sweat. He checked his watch. Almost 9.

The door danced on its hinges as the knocking continued. Irritation pushed the disturbed thoughts and images from his mind as James set his feet on the floor and rose from his chair. "Hold on, I'm coming! Don't knock the door in!" He crossed the room in four strides and pulled it open. "Murtogg! Mulroy!" he exclaimed, the surprised cry getting out before he could stop it.

The two soldiers saluted. "Yes, sir. We-"

"Did you get the thief?"

"No, sir. We-"

"Did you find where he went?"

"Yes, sir. But there's-"

"Good! Give me the location."

"If you'll let me finish, sir!" Mulroy's request was anxious and it was only then that James noticed the two men's nervous movements. He nodded, motioning the man to continue. "Thank you, sir. Now, don't be angry or try to shoot anyone."

Now the commodore seemed suspicious. He fixed them with a searching look. "Why would I shoot anyone?"

"'Cause yor the type tha' shoots first and asks questions later. Or…should I say stabs in the back and then asks questions?" The new, slurring voice that broke into the conversation belonged to a man that James Norrington had never dreamed (and never hoped, actually) to see again. Jack Sparrow had appeared over Murtogg's shoulder.

--

Men scattered like mice. Those few cowards that feared the evoke 'the Devil's' unpredictable wrath scurried for a dark corner to hide from the icy, demon-eyed gaze that permeated the room. Even the several muscle-bound giants that called themselves rebels shivered under that gaze. For at that very moment, Kordell Dantes had entered the room.

The pirate captain's black clad form dominated the tavern's doorway, ragged clothes floating around him, the moonlight outlining his intimidating figure and giving several the impressions that he was indeed a wraith from Hell. One scarred hand adjusted the reefer's hat that hid most of Dantes' lank, ebony hair before the man himself stalked into the tavern. A wickedly notched cutlass hung from his belt. It glinted in the dim light as he moved indoors followed by a member of his crew. Now that his glowering features were visible in that light, a jagged scar could be seen lancing down from the corner of one eye, a raised white welt that appeared to glow.

The _Winged Demon_'s crew was almost as frightful in appearance as their captain. Only one man flanked Dantes but even the sight of one member of the reputed crew was enough. He was the first mate, Peckover. His peg leg thunked ominously as he moved and glared about with his disturbingly blue eyes. His sharp features were harsh and always carried a sneering expression.

There were only two rebels that didn't flinch away from Dantes. Aleale hadn't even glanced up from cleaning her pistol. Melissa just hadn't noticed the man's arrival. She happened to be busy pouring over the Commodore's records, seeing how far from the truth he had been. The dark haired woman had changed out of her dress and was wearing clothing similar to Aleale's. Her own pistol and sword hung from her belt.

"Hakim tells me ye recovered those records," Dantes said, coming to a halt before the rebel leader. Aleale, perched on her 'throne', nodded.

"He did."

"And?"

"Dependin' on how skillful Norrin'ton's men are, we mey actually 'ave a fight on our 'ands."

"Oh?" Dantes' eyes narrowed. "'Ow so?"

"Dhere are as many of dem as dhere are uv of us. Dhey have more ships den you and meh scouts jus' reported dhat de _Dauntless_ and de _Expedition_ have moved in tah cut off dah harbah. We gonna be sorely pressed to be defeatin' dem whilst dheir guard's up," Aleale replied, unflinchingly meeting his gaze.

"The only reason they know about the attack in first place was 'cause o' yor incompetent messenger catchers."

"Let's not be puttin' dah blame on each udah," Aleale replied, her own icy demeanor sparking in irritation. "Dho we's bein' faced wif a challenge, we will overcome. Dhis company ain't de pafetic group ah escaped slaves and patriots ye found some months ago."

"No, I s'ppose it ain't." The conversation was having a visible affect on the men in the tavern. Nervous glances were passed between the rebels, each man praying the talk wouldn't escalate into an argument. Usually, when the two leaders argued, someone got shot. Peckover watched the men over his shoulder, hoping as well Aleale wouldn't force Dantes to get a new first mate. The pirate captain's irritated aura dissipated and he leaned back, resting his weight on one leg. "I'll get into that harbor. You best be waitin' there when I do. My crew, it tain't lookin' forward t' a fort full o' redcoats wiv the cannons at ready."

"We'll be dhere. Count on it. Am I right?" A resounding "Aye!" reverberated through the tavern. Dantes nodded.

"My crew and I'll be getting' prepared. Expect a messenger 'afore tomorrow evenin'."

"I shall." Dantes pivoted on one heel and, followed by Peckover, left the tavern.

--

AN: Wow, chapter six already! It's not as long as the last two but it'd go on forever if I didn't end it where I did. I extend uber-thanks and credit to catgirlutah (Erica) for bringing Cap'n Jack in with her wonderful introduction. I highly suggest reading her fic 'Ello Beastie. Magnifico! -mwah!-


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: _Se Parleur_

Fletcher Anderson lounged in a deck chair positioned near the starboard bow of the _Dauntless_, hat over his face and snoring quietly. No lamps were lit on deck and the moon and stars provided the only light. The crew handling the big, burly ship was one that knew her rigging like the backs of their tanned and callused hands. They were able to navigate her in the dark which was one of the reasons Captain Anderson called for them. A troop of marines slept below deck. Light sleepers, the lot of them so even fresh from slumber they were ready for action. Every man kept a hand on their muskets. The _Dauntless_ was positioned almost precariously close to the cliffs just below Fort Charles.

Across the mouth of the harbor lay the _Expedition_. The equally stout but slightly smaller ship was unlit as well, crewed by the men who had guided her from England. Roger Cook stood stoically at her bow, hands clasped behind his back. The heaviness of sleep did not plague him. Only three hours of sleep and a substantial amount of food was needed to keep his large frame active. Those three hours had been gained earlier that day. He checked his pocket watch. Ten p.m. He found his normally enthusiastic spirits solemn and grave. Anderson had voiced his doubts, saying that the pirates were unlikely to attack this early. Cook disagreed. His gaze narrowed as he looked towards the horizon.

An inky black dot sat there and was just out of Cook's range of sight. The former English Navy frigate was an absolute beast of a ship previously named the _Roisin Dubh_. The navy blue paint on her hull had almost long since faded away and was replaced by a muddy brown color. If the _Black Pearl_ could be called a ghost, the _Winged Demon_ could be called a monster. Her entire crew snapped to an atypical attention as Kordell Dantes stepped aboard. The dark man said no word and headed for his cabin. The crew dissipated around him, heading back to their individual duties.

Peckover thunked a few steps ahead of Dantes, reaching for the cabin door. "What be your orders for the night, cap'n?" he queried. Dante paused, yellow eyes glaring towards Port Royal.

"That she-wolf'll 'ave her men all over the fort as soon's the sun's down. Make sure the men are prepared to sail by late evenin'." His smile came across as more of a smarmy sneer. "We wouldn't want t' miss our appointment wiv de Commodore."

Peckover grinned evilly, nodding. "Aye aye, sir."

--

Jack's gold littered smile glowed in the lamplight emanating from James' desk near the window. His dark-eyed gaze swept around the office. "Ye know, I a'ways wonder'd how the other 'alf lived. Wot say you, Gibbs?" he queried, gesturing about him with the pistol in his hand. Joshamee Gibbs poked his head over Jack's shoulder looking thoroughly ill-at-ease. But, his mouth made small 'o' as he looked around.

"Nice place. Though 'tain't much more furnished than the cabin aboard the _Black Pearl_, Cap'n."

Murtogg and Mulroy watched the Commodore roll his eyes and look extremely, highly annoyed. Apart from that, his expression was almost unreadable by either man. A worried look passed between them as James spoke.

"I'm sure you didn't just come here to critique my fashion sense," he snapped. He felt his hand twitching towards his pistol. Jack focused on him, squinting with a confused expression that melted into one of those 'aha!' ones, like he'd just remembered what he was doing.

"Quite right, mate, though this place could use a woman's touch." He practically felt the venomous glare James shot him.

"Then what, pray tell, _are_ you doing here? I'm sure these men don't want to stand here for the rest of the night with pistols shoved into their backs."

The two soldiers nodded vigorously. Jack paused to think for moment and then nodded. "Then I'll jus' be gettin' to the point then, eh?" He navigated drunkenly around Mulroy as he handed the pistol to Gibbs. The first mate kept his own pistol in Murtogg's back, adding Jack's to Mulroy. Jack paused, noticing the irate but questioning glance the Commdore sent towards the two soldiers and Gibbs. "Security, my good man," he said with a grin, patting James on the shoulder before swaggering over to a chair. "Knowin' you…and I do…you ain't gonna put yerself in a position where your…" The pirate sent a look towards Murtogg and Mulroy. "…soldiers, I s'ppose, would be killed fer no reason. Right?"

He got no reply but the Commodore, scowling darkly, strode over to his own chair. Jack grinned again. "I'll take that as a yes," he said brightly, propping his feet up on James' desk. Observing the navy-bedecked man before him, Jack concluded that Norrington was keeping himself well in check for a man who really would shoot a pirate before asking who he was.

"Get your feet off of my desk," James said. Jack's toes wiggled in his boots, making the tips of his feet move slightly. The pirate glanced up to think about the order when James spoke again. "Or do I have to do it for you?"

The boots were removed but Jack appeared highly offended. "That better?" he sneered almost child-like.

"Oh so much," came the sarcastic reply. "We had a deal, Sparrow. 'Out of sight, out of mind.'" Here, James curled a lip. "And cannon fire range."

Jack grimaced slightly before the Commodore continued. "Now, tell me why you've decided to step foot in this port before I unwittingly loose my reason and accidentally have you shot. I'm sure we wouldn't want that." The almost innocent tone in his voice shot his message across. There was definitely no love lost between Jack Sparrow and James Norrington. The pirate tried for a friendly start despite the obvious hostility.

"Well, ye know how far back we go. All those wunnerful memories?"

"Perhaps."

"I just so 'appened to be in the neighbor'ood and I figured that maybe, since we're such good mates 'n all, I'd 'elp you wiv your lil' rebel problem."

"You know about that?" James queried. Even he couldn't tell if the question was truly from surprise.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate." The formerly quizzical expression soured.

"Silly me, I must have forgotten"

Jack leant forward, placing his hands on James' desk. "Now, I'm willin' to put me crew on the line to help you…"

"How noble of you."

"…and I know you'll need it. That pirate thas' workin' wiv the rebels…I 'ear 'e's an absolute devil. Merciless, ruthless, the entire kit n' kaboodle. He will not spare anyone, even civilians." The pirate cast a glance over his shoulder at Murtogg and Mulroy. He moved to continue but James interrupted him.

"And you care about the civilians?" he asked incredulously. Jack briefly looked like a child caught with his hand in the sweets jar before he recovered from the question.

"Well, most of me crew used to be civilians so I figure…I owe 'em somethin'." The Commodore didn't look convinced as he gave a derisive snort. "Plus, Kordell Dantes is competition. I shan't want to miss an opportune moment tah be rid of 'im."

James nodded, still not thoroughly convinced on the civilian issue. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "So this pirate…what do you know of him?"

"Well…" Jack leaned back in his chair. "'E's got this nick name 'the Devil.' E's been pillagin' the American coast, which has gott'n him a rather iniquitous reputation. You've no doubt 'eard o' that ship 'e cap'ns."

"The _Winged Demon_. That's what was in the reports."

"Roight. So I'm presumin' that he's got a plan to get into Port Royal in spite o' those two boat- er, ships ye got parked out front." Here he grinned. "I've done it before."

"Yes, Nasseau Port. We've heard of that," James said dryly.

"Roight!" Jack said again, still grinning. The Commodore opened his mouth to speak but Jack interrupted him. "But before we go any further, I just gotta know. A bit off topic but…you'd be willin' to employ pirates to 'elp protect the innocent lives in this 'ere port? I know you used t' be of a noble and upstanding character n' all but…. You _used_ to be." Jack stressed the latter. He was stared at for a few moments as Norrington seemed to be thinking. An almost thoughtful expression flitted across his features.

"I can never seem to make you people happy. I started out with that 'noble' character. It was turned down. Then, I figure, what the hell? 'When in Rome' after all. But, I try to act like a bloody pirate saving my own skin like yourself, and I've been hated for that. And now, now that I've settled into a slightly different groove, you're asking that I go back to where I started." James snorted humorlessly, shaking his head. Those were the only statements he could summon up for an answer in spite of himself. Jack sent him an almost pitying look.

"Mate, lemme be straight wiv ye. I've said it before and I'll say it a'gin. I've always rooted for you. Yeah, you killed me. More figuratively than lit'rally per say but tha's beside the point."

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel so much better."

"You jus' gotta see the bright side. Take me fer example." Jack gestured to himself. "I've been dead. I got a nice long look at me life. And, I entertained the thought occasionally that maybe, I'd be brought back. Lo n' behold, I was! To me, you been seein' the wrong side o' things. You made a mistake. You took the time off t' look at it. But, you steered the wrong way in decidin' t' be a pirate. A pirate an English navy man born and raised does not make. You gave up and now you know that wasn't the roight thing."

As Jack spoke, James had actually listened. What surprised him was that the pirate was right. There was truth to his words. Meanwhile, Jack knew what he'd said was having an affect on Norrington. He gave himself a smug, mental pat on the back. Across from him, James was obviously debating with himself. And, after several quiet moments, he actually smiled and laughed. "I'm either going insane…or you're not Jack Sparrow."

"No, you're goin' insane."

"I figured as much."

Jack grinned.

--

The sound of metal on metal echoed from the blacksmith's shop. Inside, William Turner was working. Sweat streamed from his forehead and made the hands inside his rawhide gloves itch as he hammered. It was a late hour to be working but an odd amount of soldiers had been breaking their swords in reckless duals. Mr. Brown, Will's former craft master, had never been quite competent in weapon-making. The order for the swords was due tomorrow. "Will!" Elizabeth's voice barely reached dear William's ears as he hammered away on a strip of iron. He paused in mid-swing, hammer raised over his head.

"I thought you were staying the night?" he queried

"Something's come up. The port's to be attacked," Elizabeth explained hastily, tossing her jacket over a nearby chair. "Father sent me here, feeling I wouldn't be safe." Will paused again, turning in Elizabeth's direction as she brushed by him heading for their apartment above the forge.

"An attack? Again? Who- wait…your father thought you'd be more safe here than in his own house?" His wife paused at his incredulous tone of voice, halfway across the shop.

"Yes."

"That's interesting." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "So, who's attacking?"

"According to Norrington, it's a combined force of pirates and Jamaican rebels that plan to take over the port to gain control of the island and the surrounding waters. It's a sound bet the rebels want to execute any ruling power here and my father didn't want me near him"

As soon as Elizabeth had mentioned James Norrington, Will almost stopped listening. Just the mere thought of the man made him angry. He wouldn't forget how he'd betrayed them by stealing Davy Jones' heart or how he still came after them as an officer after fugitives. "You believe _Norrington_?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed as an unsure expression creased her forehead. "Even after all he's done, I still feel like I can trust him and...I don't know why." It was Will's turn to roll his eyes. "But that's not the point. I'm not just going to let myself get captured again like that last time pirates came raiding." She pivoted on one heel, heading again for the apartment.

"As if I'd let you get captured!" Will replied, poking himself in the chest with his hammer. "And by your direction, I'm assuming we're going to help that bloody git with the battle?"

"Of course. Besides," Elizabeth paused, sending him a playful look, "we wouldn't want to miss the big fight, would we?"

--

AN: Eh, kinda jumped about in this chapter. Took me a bit longer to get it out, too. And it's short to boot! –dies- Anyway, thanks as always to my reviewers!


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Sur la Précipice

"So we 'ave an accord?"

"It would seem that way. You're hired, I suppose."

Jack Sparrow and James Norrington both rose from their seats, shaking hands on the agreement between them. The pirate wouldn't be clapped in irons and sent away to hang from a yard arm. While the Commodore's men dedicated themselves to the fort, Sparrow would 'join' forces with Dantes and pretend to help the demon-man in infiltrating the port. But of course, there'd be a bit of betrayal. The _Winged Demon_ would be caught in the crossfire between three ships – the _Dauntless_, the _Expedition_, and the _Black Pearl_. It would be more than enough to take out Dantes and his whole crew. That is, if everything went according to plan.

Norrington's men would make easy work of the rebels and, as Jack had put it, 'ev'ryone'll be 'ome in time fer tea.' In return, Jack and Barbossa's crews would be paid not meagerly and they were free men provided they stayed well out of cannon range.

Jack turned on one heel and headed for the door, a rather pleased look on his face. "I'm going to hold you to your word, Sparrow." The pirate paused, turning about to look at the Commodore. An expression of reluctance, pleading, and almost indecision clouded James' face. Jack gave a rare, sincere smile.

"I'm thinkin' tha' you'll find me trustworthy fer once," he replied in that low, serious tone Gibbs found highly disturbing. The Commodore had fixed him with a look.

"Being dead really changed you, didn't it?"

"You have no idea." The answer was almost inaudible as Jack, with a look almost melancholy, turned again and headed out the door. Gibbs glanced at the three navy men before skedaddling after his captain.

The older man was huffing and puffing before he caught up with Jack. "So…yer assumin' Barbossa's …gonna agree with all this?" Gibbs queried as he drew abreast of the pirate. Jack had become his old self again and shrugged, grinning haphazardly.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll come t' sort of agreement."

Murtogg and Mulroy watched the two men disappear from the building. "You think we'll see 'im again?" Murtogg asked to no one in particular. His companion scratched his head.

"Who knows? I doubt it personally."

"Somehow…I think Mr. Sparrow will stay true." The two soldiers turned to find James sitting back down at his desk, quill in hand. "Get some sleep, the both of you," he said without looking up. Mulroy elbowed Murtogg, who nodded.

"Sir, there's something you need to know.

"What is it?" James paused, fixing the man with a stare.

"We were captured by the rebels, sir."

"And while we were there, we saw something."

"Someone, actually."

"May I ask who?"

There was a hesitant look passed between the two. "Melissa Hart was seen working with the rebel leader. We believe there's a plot to assassinate the important social and political figures in Port Royal…including you."

James heaved a sigh and looked down at the floor for a moment. "Very good, men. When you get to the barracks, alert Lieutenant Hayward of the situation. Have him send out messengers to the governor and others."

"And you, sir?"

"I am capable of taking care of myself, thank you."

The two men saluted smartly and moved off, leaving James alone. He found himself reaching for his watch and stopped. Checking the thing had become a nervous habit. Chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully, James patted the watch in his pocket and turned back to what he was going to do. A blank sheet of paper sat before him. It was stared at for several long moments, ink left to drip from the quill and onto the corner.

There was decision to be made. The Commodore smiled faintly to himself. _Do I write a letter…or a will?_ The deal he'd just sealed with Jack Sparrow…it was something to be thought upon. Was it just? Was it right? Maybe in his mind it was right but even more importantly, was it legal?

James rapped his knuckles on the desk impatiently. No, of course it wasn't legal. But, he'd done illegal things before and hadn't _really _gotten in trouble for it. Fate had chanced to put those letters of clemency into his hands. One side of his mind had considered that the first strike of luck he'd had since his commission resignation. The situation was different now. A clandestine deal with a pirate had been made to save lives, not take them. Well, to save innocent lives and keep them from being taken. There could be an effort to spare the rebels. Maybe. Some of the silly fiends may just act the martyr and demand to be executed.

He understood fully the reason the rebels wanted to get rid of the British majority. But, he also chose to look past that. This was a direct threat against the Crown and its people. And a direct threat had to be stopped, regardless. James didn't keep slaves personally but he did know men who did. If only they were open to negotiation…

The quill touched the paper and ink began spread from the blackened point. James nodded once, a solemn expression bringing his eyebrows to the center of his forehead. He began to write in a slanting, somewhat illegible handwriting.

"_Dear Father_…"

--

"Commodore?" A tentative but familiar voice broke through James' slumber. His head rested easily on the desk before him, one arm cradling it. His free hand still clutched the quill but the ink had long since dried. One eye opened groggily and he grunted in acknowledgement. Why was it so bloody bright? "It's eight o'clock, sir."

This jerked him upright. "Eight o'clock!" Miles stared at the younger man wide-eyed, a mildly startled expression playing with his wrinkled visage. "What?" The manservant moved to speak, stopped, and did it again.

"Sir…you have…" Miles fluttered one hand near his own left cheek. A quizzical look deadening his own features, James ventured to brush a hand against his face as he simultaneously glanced towards a mirrored unit of shelves with a glass door. He jumped at the reflection, espying the black lines of writing smeared onto his face. The letter he'd fallen asleep in mid-sentence on had a nice, round inky imprint of his left cheek in the center. His already sloppy print happened to be none the worse for it. "I came to see how things were going, sir. You didn't come home last night and we were beginning to wonder."

James had walked over to the shelves, watching his reflection rub furiously at the black smear on his cheek. The rubbing only made it worse he came to find. "Thank you for your concern, Miles," he muttered.

"How _is_ everything?"

"Well, we are definitely expecting an attack on the port. There is reason to believe that the governor and his peers are in danger of assassination or downright homicide." James paused, smiling humorously for some reason. "But, we are prepared both here and behind enemy lines, so to speak."

Miles didn't even venture to ask what he meant. "I'm assuming you'll be coming home for breakfast?"

"At eight o'clock in the morning?"

"Brunch, then."

"Very well. Perhaps I'll have better luck getting this off."

"Water always helps, sir."

--

The night had been a long one for Captain Jack and first mate Gibbs. First, they had to navigate Port Royal without being discovered and with all the redcoats then scurrying about, it made for an almost tedious task.

Hector Barbossa was the first man to speak at Jack Sparrow as soon as the man set foot upon the _Pearl_'s deck about an hour before sunrise. Most of the crew was sleeping but those who were present on deck made themselves scarce, not wanting to witness a spat between the two captains. "Yew said ye'd only be gone fer a couple 'ours. It's been twenty-fur, mate," the man declared, jabbing Jack in the chest with a long fingernail. "Yer lucky I didn't jus' ship off withoutcha!" Jack pushed Barbossa's hand away from him in slight disgust, making for the captains' quarters.

"Ought t' cut those things. Gettin' rather pointy, they are." Rolling his eyes expressively, Barbossa followed after Jack.

"Did ye at least find anyt'in interestin'?"

The smile on Jack's face was clearly prominent in voice even if Barbossa couldn't see it. "Of course! Can't promise you'll like it but that's always how it goes, eh?"

So, after a lengthy, sporadic Jack-Sparrow-explanation and a quarter of an hour later, Jack's reluctant counterpart sat across from him with a skeptical expression. "So, lemme get this straight. We're t' side with a man who would have killed you without question a week ago so's you can get me off my ship and outta yer hair?"

"No," Jack said, seemingly batting Barbossa's statement out of the air. "We're t' side wiv a man who _won't _kill me so's we can kill one bird wiv two stones; you'll be off _my _ship and into yer own _and_ we'll bof be rid of a competitor!" he finished with a grin. The grin faded though, as he thought back on mentioned sentence. "Er…would it be killin' three birds wiv one stone…"

"I don't feel inclined t' acquiesce with that."

"Why do you always say that?"

Barbossa fixed him with a flat stare. "The _Pearl _should belong t' me. I 'appen t' know she's the best rig this particular edge of the map can offer."

"Or do you? You don't remember seein' Kordell Dantes' ship 'cos you didn't want to see 'er. You didn't approve o' this lil outin' 'cos you thought was a waste of time. Let me tell you, the _Winged Demon_ is a far better fightin' ship than the _Pearl_, mate. An absolute beast.

"This lil rig is fast, I'll grant her that but only when she was crewed by a crew of undead pirates was she really a threat. There's leaks all over the place, anyway. The _Demon_'ll be all yors and, since she was once a British navy ship, she'll no doubt be in much better shape and far better than the _Pearl_."

Barbossa seemed to be considering it. The more Jack praise spoke of Dantes' atrocious flagship, the more he liked it. "One question. 'Ow do ye know that the _Demon_ was once a navy ship?"

"You 'ear interestin' things walkin' Port Royal at night."

"Is that so?"

Jack grinned. "You 'ave no idea."

The long feather sewn onto Barbossa's flamboyant hat fluttered as the man nodded absently. "Wot about my crew? Who's t' say they'll agree with all this?"

There few men left that had been loyal to Barbossa upon Jack's reclaiming of the _Black Pearl_. Norrington had more than likely watched all of them hang from the gallows with a smug grin on his face. But, what did Hector know? He had been dead at the time. Pentil and Ragetti were serving as fence-sitters, neither of them claiming allegiance to either captain. "Did I 'appen t' mention we're gettin' paid?" Jack asked with a smile.

True to his pirate-y self, Barbossa sat up at the mention of a monetary reward, his eyes brightening a bit. "Ye failed to mention that, actually. 50-50?"

"Of course! We may want t' run each other through most of the time but we're equal business partners, eh? So what say you?"

Barbossa's stain-toothed grin made itself present.

--

Aleale was not a happy camper. Hakim had suffered after the two redcoats were found gone, a gaping hole in the wall where they'd escaped. The entire company stayed silent a good part of the time, fearing Aleale's wrath. There was a reason that the woman had become leader of the rebels.

It was always like this before a battle. Their leader would get extremely uptight and snap at anything that seemed to move. Having the prisoners escape only made it worse. But Murtogg and Mulroy's disappearing act wasn't the only thing.

Melissa had found it highly amusing. She never failed to wave at Hakim, who was chained to a wall in the murky back rooms of the tavern for his blunder. While Aleale grew more irritable, Melissa grew more chipper as the night and morning began to pass by. It was common opinion that the woman enjoyed battles too much to be sane. She was often seen cleaning an already clean sword or taking apart and tinkering with a practically mint condition pistol that needed no tinkering.

Almost as soon as eight o'clock rolled around, Aleale had had enough of her 'puppet's' attitude. Melissa was garbed once again in a dress, a dark blue one, and was sent out on a forced leave of absence until she was needed later that evening. And so, she stood idly outside the tavern for a few moments with nothing to do. Perhaps to go somewhere? But where?

To be seen in a common-place tavern would be a mark on her spotless reputation. Commodore Norrington was certainly off the list. Nathalie Smith and Georgiana Abshire were previously engaged. Perhaps Rebecca Anderson. Her husband was off commanding the _Expedition_ which left her alone in the house. It was a pity the other two women were busy. It would more than likely be the last time Melissa would ever see them. Though she'd be seeing Fletcher Anderson shot or hung within the next twenty-four hours, with a smile, Melissa headed out.

No officer within Port Royal would be spared, according to Aleale's plan. The civilians would be given the choice to either join them or leave. If they wanted to fight back, they'd be shot. Melissa found this part of the process disagreeable. Navy men were her targets but civilians had no business with her. Her father Bartolomew Hart was a civilian. This would actually be the first major port the rebel force would attack. Ballon and Smalle were just steps along the way and neither of them had been fully taken over. But, with Dantes' help, it'd be a piece of cake. There were as many soldiers stationed in Port Royal as there were rebels. Throwing the pirates into the mix added at least forty men to their numbers. And with the level of ferocity the _Winged Demon_'s crew was infamous for… Melissa wanted to see the man who wouldn't quake with at least some apprehension.

It would be a sight to see when Dantes' himself stepped into the battle. No one had defeated him in a sword fight and his cutlass carried more notches than a man had hair. He wasn't the type to stay safe and hidden on his ship. Dantes' hands-on approach appealed to Melissa quite a bit. That was why even she would take a position in the upcoming battle.

Mrs. Anderson herself answered the door and was elated to see someone she knew. "Melissa, you have no idea how boring it's been just sitting around with nothing to do. I've helped clean, dust, and even played every single piece in my harp collection. What with Fletcher, Nathalie and Georgiana being away, I don't know how I'd keep myself sane!" she explained as they made for the sitting room.

"Is that so? I understand you fully."

"Really?"

"No, actually." They shared a laugh. "I came to have one last talk with you, Rebecca."

"Last? Are you leaving?"

"Yes, tomorrow morning."

"What a shame! This place could use an emancipated woman like yourself," Mrs. Anderson replied, stepping evenly into the sitting room and gesturing for a servant to bring some tea. "Is there any reason in particular?"

Melissa shrugged.

"What about your 'interest'?" Rebecca queried with sly smile.

"What?"

"Come, Melissa, I don't have to explain do I?"

"Oh." She chuckled. "I'm not so sure about _that _any longer."

"Really? How so?"

"It's a long story," came the reply with possibly a bit too much sincerity. Mrs. Anderson took the hint and the topic was dropped. Melissa was glad. She didn't need reminding of that particular 'interest.'

--

After a heartening brunch, playing session, and an appointment with a bar of soap, James found himself feeling rather chipper as he headed back up to the ramparts of Fort Charles. The sun was directly overhead and heated swiftly the dark blue broadcloth of his jacket. He pulled on his collar slightly for some air but mainly ignored the heat. Out and below, he could see men milling about on the _Expedition_'s deck. The general boat traffic had been ceased and a small merchant ship had been hired to intercept any possible incoming traffic and divert it away to one of the other ports. Tariffs were up and James didn't think the merchant captains who were rerouted would complain about not having to pay them.

Sunset or night. The most plausible times the rebels and pirates would attack. Seven hours. It sounded like a long time but to him, they were on a precipice. It was a cliff that they would either stay rooted to…or topple over in a stunning display of defeat. A bit of excitement buzzed down his spine. Battle anticipation was deemed improper by some but James hid it well. Or he tried to. It was predictable that for the next half-dozen hours or so, the Commodore would be bustling about checking and re-checking defenses, getting word from the _Dauntless_ and _Expedition_, or just generally being everywhere at once. It was a talent envied by at least a couple of his officers. But there were those, like Captain Cook, who preferred their own laid-back style of command to James' constantly moving one.

Behind him in the court, a man hammering on some loose boards of the gallows had broken into a song. He sang with a broad, lusty tone. It was an easily recognized tavern and pub song and soon, some of the red-coated soldiers had joined in. The scouts standing along the ramparts were humming or singing along, their booted feet tapping out the quick 1-2 beat. The tension that James felt upon stepping into Fort Charles was beginning to relax. He caught himself tapping a foot as well. Giving into impulse for once, he covertly joined in on the chorus.

"_Do you still walk the streets at night?_

_With the Wanderlust you fight_

_Back to the corner _

_Where we went our separate ways._

_So raise a cheer to those forgotten years_

_Back to the corner_

_Where we went out separate ways._"

--

Disclaimer- No, I didn't write those lyrics. They are copyrighted to the band Flogging Molly, of which I am recent fan. Don't sue!

AN: Sorry for the delay. Smacked into a wall of writer's blocks, I did. I'm afraid I may have jumped around too much but, I suppose I'll find out what the readers think, eh? Uber thanks to Erica, who's been my lone, loyal reviewer these past two chapters, I believe. If I've missed somebody, forgive me. Ah, and one side note – I have mixed up a name. In the first chapter, Captain Anderson's first name was Edmund. In later chapters, I call him Fletcher. –smacks forehead- A blunder on my part.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: _Rencontrer avec Dantes_

The _Winged Demon_ was probably the only single most important girl in Kordell Dantes' life. He saw to it that every morning equipment checks and the like were run at least twice. It kept her ship-shape, not to mention the crew as well. He showed more diligence in keeping the deck swabbed than keeping an inventory on the swag buried on an uncharted island several leagues back. Uncommon for a pirate but as mentioned, Dantes wasn't your regular 'scally-wag.' Several of the rookies aboard the _Winged Demon_ believed her to be haunted and her captain to actually be possessed by the demon that supposedly frequented the ship. Of course this rumor was started by some of the more senior pirates but there were none who wouldn't consider the possibilities.

The noon Caribbean sun sparkled on the shining blue waters around the _Demon_. A stiff but quiet breeze was blowing, rustling what little sail there was left untied. With the steady zephyr, it would take little time to get into Port Royal. All that was left to do was to wait.

Dantes was in his cabin, plotting their next course after the Navy threat was taken out. A bright blue Macaw sat perched on one of the open window sills behind him where the stiff breeze floated in. The parrot was an annoying little thing but it kept the morale up.

The bird squawked at him from the aft window. Dantes shot a venomous glare at the animal over his shoulder and sent it flapping madly away. He had that kind of affect on things. The tattered black overcoat he wore was draped over a chair, the broad black reefer's hat sitting in the seat. Dantes' lank ebony hair had been slicked and pulled back, away from his scarred face, revealing his slightly olivine complexion.

No matter how far or to what place he dragged his bit of writing charcoal, his eyes always flickered back to Port Royal. It would be the first actual fort armed with a generous amount of trained soldiers that his crew would fight against. At this distance, Fort Charles was barely visible but no doubt the two navy ships Aleale had spoken of were there. Dantes' eyes closed and he could practically see the two burly ships standing like blue and gold sentinels at the mouth of the harbor, their marines probably armed to the teeth.

His eyes opened again as he ran a hand over the swirling lines of cursive that read 'Port Royal.' Aleale could kill all the white men she wanted but Dantes had a personal appointment with Norrington. If it hadn't been for the blaggard, this little skirmish wouldn't be happening and Dantes would probably sitting among pounds and pounds of swag and the spoils of victory over the Caribbean. No, the Commodore would die by Dantes' hands, either in battle or after the fort surrendered. He preferred killing in the heat of battle but he wasn't averse to killing someone in cold blood. As long as it took care of the objective at hand.

Peckover interrupted his thoughts with a knock on the cabin door. "Enter," the captain's baritone voice replied. The first mate thunked in, throwing a smart salute.

"There's a ship comin' up on us, Cap'n."

"What!" Dantes had rounded on Peckover within a second of the man finishing his statement. "How close is she!"

"Well within the range of sight."

"Why was I not informed!"

Peckover blanched, backing away slightly as the taller man fixed him with a murderous look. "She's not flyin' any colors!" Dantes swept past Peckover and out onto the deck. He took the stairs leading up to the wheel almost three at a time. An ebon-skinned man with scars on his back that reminded some of a crocodile was looking out through a telescope. Dantes snatched the thing from the man's hands and the pirate skittered away like he'd been burnt. Peckover labored up the stairs and came to a stop near the wheel.

A black ship with black sails came into view. No colors. It looked like a sturdy little rig made for speed. Not all of her sails were open and she was still making good time towards the _Demon_. "Roll out the guns," Dantes said over his shoulder. Peckover immediately repeated the order and any of the men on the upper deck leapt into action, some on the long nines at hand and some down below to the other cannons. "Do not fire until my signal."

Again, Peckover repeated the orders and there was absolute silence onboard. Dantes continued to gaze through the looking glass when he espied a man. Three actually. One, an older looking chap was waving a flag – a white flag. Two other men stood behind him. Dantes lowered the glass, brow furrowed. Peckover moved to stand just behind his right shoulder. "What is yor verdict, Cap'n?"

"They want a conference."

--

"Permission t' come aboard, cap'n?" The man that addressed Dantes was…interesting. His slurring speech could have been contributed to some sort of alcohol; why else would anyone dare approach the reputed _Winged Demon_? Even his movements were clumsy. The older man that waved the flag stood anxiously behind a third man wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a feather.

The smaller black ship slid up beside the _Demon_ with great ease, her crew handling the sails, rigging, and anchors with deft skill. A ragtag little bunch but efficient looking.

Dantes gave the drunken man a long look before replying. "Permission granted." It was still beyond him why the man wanted to talk. If anything, he should be considering the demon captain competition, not a casual conversationalist. He waited until the three men were aboard the _Demon_ before heading over to meet them. Dantes had re-adorned his hat and jacket and had his two weapons in plain view.

The trio and Dantes, backed by Peckover halted within three paces of each other. Now that the drunken man was closer, it appeared he wasn't really drunk. Maybe just stupid but his dark, expressive eyes were not clouded over as Dantes had expected. The other man stuck out his hand, swaying slightly.

"Am I addressin' Cap'n Kordell Dantes of the _Winged Demon_?"

"Aye, ye are," Dantes answered, taking the offered hand almost reluctantly. "This be my first mate, Peckover. What brings ye t' my ship under a flag o' truce, Captain…" He paused for a name.

"Sparrow." The man grinned, showing off a few golden teeth. "Jack Sparrow. This is my first mate, Gibbs," Jack said, nodding towards the older man. "And this is my…co-captain Hector Barbossa." Dantes' showed some mild surprise.

"Barbossa? I've 'eard that name before." He shot a mocking glance at the bearded man. "Last I 'eard, _you_ was captain of the _Pearl_."

"Times change, Dantes. I figured ye'd be at the bottom o' the ocean by now," Barbossa replied, sarcastic innocence in his tone. Dantes' own mocking expression soured and one hand reached for his pistol as Barbossa went for his. Jack stepped between the two men, waving his hands.

"We're under a truce, mates!" He swatted them both on the shoulder, glaring at each of them in turn like a disapproving parent. "For shame. Now!" Jack turned to Dantes, smiling suddenly. "We, that's you n' me, 'ave some business to conduct." He threw an arm around Dantes shoulders, an incredible feat, and angled the man towards the _Demon_'s cabin. Barbossa, Gibbs, and Peckover followed in their wake.

--

"Checkmate, master-at-arms."

"Oh blast, that's the bloody fifth time… if you'll pardon my language, sir."

"It was good game, Winslow. You lasted longer this time."

The man sighed. "I suppose you're right, Commodore. Mercy, who would have thought you were a chess wizard?"

James laughed. "A wizard? Hardly! My cook can play better than I can."

"Doesn't say for much me, does it now?" Winslow said with a laugh of his own. The master-at-arms normally stood as first mate to Roger Cook but was healing up from a twisted ankle and on mandatory sick leave by the surgeon. He'd be off deck for the rest of the week and, having nothing to do but hobble around and watch the lull in preparation, challenged the near by Commodore to a game of chess up on the ramparts. How the man had managed to get up the stairs unassisted was beyond James.

"I suppose it doesn't! Do you want to set up again?" James offered.

"Why not? We aren't doing anything else other sitting around anyway," Winslow replied. James grinned and moved to set his pieces back up when a soldier came up.

"Someone wishes to see you, Commodore."

"Who?"

"The Turners."

James heaved a sigh. "By your leave, Mr. Winslow?"

"Go ahead. I'll mull over my strategy."

Chuckling, James rose from his chair and followed after the soldier. Sure enough, William and Elizabeth Turner were waiting on the outcropping just below the ramparts. Elizabeth stood in the exact spot she'd fallen some few years ago to be rescued by Jack Sparrow. Will stood eyeing the fort over with a craftsman's eye, noting in particular the newly repaired gallows in the fort square. Both husband and wife were clad in common clothes – pants, shirt, vest, and boots. And, both were armed.

James dismissed the soldier and attempted a pleasant smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Turner, it's a pleasure," he began.

"Oh just hang the formalities, will you?" Will snapped, arms crossed over his chest and refusing to look in the commodore's direction. The pleasant smile faded as James shrugged.

"So to what do I owe this…'fortuitous' reunion?" he queried dryly. He heard Will snort derisively.

"My father told me of the impending attack," Elizabeth cut in, stepping away from the edge and turning to face James. "We want to help."

"_You_ wanted to help," Will corrected her. His wife shot him a glare. This received a chuckle from James.

"Why ever would you want to do that?"

"To be frank, this place is getting boring," Elizabeth replied, putting her hands on her hips. "A bit of action will be good for all of us."

"Why don't you just go pirating?" Even though he was several steps away, Will bristled audibly at the verbal jab but managed to refrain from glaring in James' general direction. Or drawing his sword. Elizabeth did the glaring for him. The look said more than she could have.

All James could do was raise his hands halfway in surrender. "Right, I'll stop while I'm ahead. But everything else aside, I didn't particularly ask for your help, El- Mrs. Turner." He paused. "And 'to be frank,' I don't believe we need it. Not here at any rate. Now, your friend Captain…" James' voice trailed off and his face fell as he seemed to remember something. "Good God, I forgot to tell Cook and Fletcher!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his forehead. Before Elizabeth could get a word in edgewise, James had pivoted on one heel and was heading for the fort's exit. She watched him until his jogging form disappeared around a corner.

Will came to stand by Elizabeth, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "The man's insane. I told you this was a waste of time."

"It's not a waste of time! I bet he was about to say 'Captain Sparrow.'"

"What?"

"Do you know any other captains?"

"Not that I recall."

"Then who else but Jack?" Finally, Will seemed to be considering something. "That means Jack's here, in Port Royal!" Will's brow furrowed as he thought hard.

"But why would Norrington be referring to Jack as 'Captain Sparrow' without adding some sort of insult to it first?"

Both of their gazes met and each one knew they were thinking the same thing.

James Norrington had made a deal with a pirate. And it wasn't just any pirate. It was Jack Sparrow.

--

Dantes stared at the two captains as he sat across from them. Maps were still spread out on the table, measuring instruments casually resting here and there. His normally terrifying gaze was locked on Sparrow and Barbossa but neither man seemed to be affected by it. Barbossa met it unflinchingly with a blue gaze of his own. Jack happened to be taking in his surroundings, roving about with his eyes as if he could take the place in all at once. Dantes ventured to speak first. "So ye're bof cap'ns of yer ship?"

Barbossa shrugged. "Ye could say that."

Jack swiveled around to face Dantes. "We normally jus' ignore each other." The other captain nodded, an almost weary expression on his face.

"I see." Dantes leaned forward and splayed his hands on the table. "I ain't gonna beat 'round the bush wiv you two. Why are ye on my ship?"

Jack leaned forward, smiling and gesturing drunkenly. "We wanna 'elp you wiv the attack on Fort Charles."

"You know of this? How?" Barbossa didn't have to look at Jack to see the smug grin on his face. The man probably enjoyed surprising two men with this particular fact.

"I keep tellin' people but they jus' won't listen; I'm Capt'n Jack Sparrow, mate."

Dantes seemed unconvinced. "Very well. Why then do ye want to 'elp'? You got some sorta vendetta 'gainst the Brit Navy?"

"Well, kind of," Jack began.

"It's that chap Norrington," Barbossa said.

"Ah, then we 'ave a common goal. Any particular reason you want 'im dead 'asides getting these waters free?"

The other two captains sent each other looks. Their gazes stayed locked with each others for several moments before Barbossa seemed to yield. He leaned forward, propping one elbow on the table and acting for the world like the information about to be revealed was of the utmost importance. "Well, the way we figure…Norrington kind of killed the both of us."

"What?" Dantes confusion was plain and the pirate captain made no effort to hide it. His fierce demeanor had dissipated slightly. Of course, this statement would have rendered any man dumbfounded. "If 'e killed ye, what are doin' here?"

Barbossa smiled a peculiar, unpleasant smile. "Long story. Too long for the moment." Jack nodded sagely. Dantes quirked one jagged eyebrow and watched the two men for some sort of sign. Maybe he thought they were jesting and their utterly serious expressions would dissolve into laughter. But, no.

"Right then," he said at length. He rose from his seat. Jack and Barbossa followed suit. Even in the rather spacious cabin, Dantes still had to hunch over slightly to accommodate for his height. He spat in one hand and offered it to Jack. "I ain't about to trust you but we're sealin' a deal." Jack eyed Dantes' hand for a moment, grimacing conspicuously. Barbossa, rolling his eyes irately, spat in his own hand and shook Dantes' vigorously.

"Send us word when ye're ready to start the attack," he said, maneuvering Jack towards the cabin exit. Dantes nodded, thinking that both Sparrow and Barbossa were utterly insane. But, they'd be assets in the upcoming battle and, crazy or not, the _Pearl _would be needed to act against one of the navy ships guarding the harbor. And, if necessary, to act as bait.

--

AN: Not much to comment on in this chapter. My schedule has been getting more and more hectic. –dies- Thanks to Erica for reviewing! _Mille merci, mon ami! _

And as a side note, the ideas and opinions expressed in this fanfiction are purely the characters' speculations. They do not reflect in any way my own beliefs and are only what I think to be the right set of mind for the time period.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: Un-Commodore-Like Behavior

The denizens of Port Royal were not unaware of the current situation between the rebel force and the resident bit of the Royal Navy. It only took a clandestine word from a passing red coat to have the rumor of an attack spread from pub to home to docks. The general population had been expecting some sort of an attack. One pirate raid, like Barbossa's, usually heralded another. Movements were carried in a silent, solemn manner. During the day, the entire port felt on edge. Normal activity went on but no one came in. And no one went out. This caused several merchants on time schedules to grumble but their voices were silenced once armed troops could be seen preparing on the fort's ramparts.

Noon came and went. Shops began closing up early. By four o'clock, the streets of Port Royal were the streets of a ghost town. James felt it was right to assume that the civilian populace knew what was going on and ordered several armed troops out to make sure the streets were clear. He had then made sure the Governor and any other high-ranking figures were evacuated. This was done with all possible secrecy so as not to alert the rebels and provoke and premature attack. Apart from the active naval officers, only those escorting the Govenor and others knew of it. Weatherby Swann's own daughter did not even know he had left.

Every possible control and variable that would affect the upcoming battle had been checked and double checked. The only unknown was how strong the rebels would be. Their lightning-like attacks on forts Ballon and Smalle hinted at either a good commander or a highly trained military force. Or a highly trained military instructor. All seriousness aside, James would have believed that Richard Stevens was behind it. But, knowing Stevens like he did, the idea was dismissed with a laugh. Richard just did not seem capable enough.

There was only one item that the Commdore forgot to check off his list. Item number 13 – alert captains Anderson and Cook of Jack Sparrow's involvement. James smacked himself on the brow several times as he ran to find a boat to take him out to the ships. Anderson and Cook wouldn't have believed the message given by even the sanest soldier. The mere idea that James Norrington would accept the help of a pirate was utterly unthinkable. He'd have to tell them in person.

Roger Cook burst into laughter when James pulled him out of earshot to mention Sparrow. "You hired a pirate?" he managed to say between gasps. The situation, to James, was slightly embarrassing. Cook's joviality dissipated though as he caught the Commodore's utterly dismissing and humorless glare. The captain immediately set out to inform his crew as James moved off to alert Anderson.

James had found a man to row him out to the _Expedition _and the _Dauntless_. It was a random soldier he'd found along the docks. He felt awkward chatting with the man for he had no idea what the boy's name was.

Captain Anderson's reaction was somewhat more subdued than Cook's. However, he did ask if James was feeling at all well. No doubt this move on James' part was highly atypical. Un-Commodore-like, even.

Nevertheless, both captains followed his orders to their extent: if a black ship with black sails comes into the harbor not firing her guns, do not fire on her. Hopefully, Sparrow would stay true to his word. Hopefully.

--

The Turners were still standing in the same spot James had left them. This time, both Will and Elizabeth fixed him with a look he couldn't identify. "Excuse my behavior," James began. "There was an affair I had neglected to attend to. What were we discussing?"

Their silence was odd to him at first but then James began to grow nervous. Elizabeth's look had gotten incredibly…sly. Smirking, she walked up to him and jammed a finger into his chest. "You," she poked him once, "have made a deal with someone we know."

"A very certain someone we know," Will put in.

James, frankly put, felt like a 'deer caught in the headlights.' He looked like it as well. Will looked immensely pleased to have caught the Commodore between a rock and a hard place. In an attempt to keep his dignity, James took a different direction than to just admit it. "I have? With whom?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow."

"I have no idea who or what you're talking about."

Neither of them looked convinced. "You made a deal with Jack. I wonder how the public will react when they come to find that their beloved Commodore has resorted to hiring a pirate to assist in a battle…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off and she sent him a coy, pointed look.

James shot a look of his own at both of them, one lip curling slightly. The woman was too thoughtful for her own good. Amazing how this quality had appealed to him. "This is blackmail," he said somewhat quietly.

"All the more reason," Elizabeth said with a shrug. "We don't have to fight here. If anything, at least let us protect my father."

"Oh, the Governor is well protected, let me assure you," James replied.

"What?"

"He, along with the some other men of importance, has been evacuated." He sighed, not wishing to reveal the entire situation. But, he continued. Elizabeth was the man's daughter after all. She did seem slightly offended that this fact had been denied of her, though. "There is a belief that the rebels will attempt to either assassinate or just outright shoot any man who has political or social importance."

"Wouldn't that include you?" Elizabeth asked. James paused a moment before answering.

"It would. But, because I have a duty to this fort and my men, I choose to stay."

"How noble of you," Will said with a roll of his eyes. An expression of forced patience crossed James' features briefly. He took a slow breath before speaking.

"Perhaps there is somewhere you'll fit in. Two dozen of some of my best men will be working outside the fort. When the rebels attack the fort, these men will attack the rebels from behind their own lines. You can help there."

"Why not in the fort?"

"I run a tight ship here, Mrs. Turner. I'm afraid you'd get in the way."

Elizabeth seemed to express some distaste at this statement but didn't press the topic further. She was about to agree when Will spoke up.

"Elizabeth, why don't we just go find Jack and help there? It'd be better to be back among the crew than among Norrington's men."

"Good luck with that," James muttered.

"What?"

"Jack Sparrow is has no doubt already started playing his part in the little 'charade' we have planned. You'd have to go out to sea to find him and don't ask me to have someone ferry you out."

"We don't need to ask you. We found him before, didn't we?"

"Will, stop it!" Elizabeth cut in. "We'll help here in the port so we don't run the risk of ruining plans already made."

"I'm already taking a risk allowing you two _civilians_ to even know about this! Either make a decision or leave!" James said hotly, his tone final. He was glad that the closest soldiers were out of earshot for the entire conversation was not one he would like to hear about again.

"We'll help here," Elizabeth said, cutting off any protest Will had.

"Very well. One of my lieutenants, Hayward is leading the men on the outside. Tell him you were sent as reinforcements and if he doesn't believe you, tell him I enforce order 63. They won't be in position until Oh-Five-hundred."

To this, he received a blank stare. "My mistake. They won't be in position until five o'clock." Put into layman's terms, it clicked and the two made expressions of realization. "Meet Hayward near the town limits then."

--

"Have you heard about the rebel attack?"

Melissa glanced up from her tea to look at Rebecca Anderson. The woman sat across from her, cradling her own cup of tea in one hand. "I have."

"Are you worried?" Mrs. Anderson showed no obvious anxiety as she gazed inquisitively at Melissa. After a moment of thought and a peculiar smile to herself, Melissa answered with a negative. Mrs. Anderson seemed mildly surprised as she took a sip of her drink. "I thought you would be since this attack will no doubt interfere at least a little with your plans to leave in the morning. Who knows how long the port will be under lock down." A smile creased her visage. "You're always so punctual."

Miss Hart found herself slightly perturbed as a reply came to mind. "If Commodore Norrington's men are as competent as he says they are, then the battle will be a short one."

"He has much faith in his men."

"So I've noticed." The two women lapsed into silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable one; it more a silence between friends who were there just for each other's company. Melissa was the first to speak after a moment. "Are you afraid for your husband being out there in the line of fire and leaving you here alone?"

"I must admit I am a little afraid. But, despite his reserved attitude, Fletcher is a gallant man who does not shirk from his duties on account of fear. As for being alone…" A tender smile and a dreamy, far-away look seemed to steal Mrs. Anderson's attention for a moment. "I know this sounds clichéd almost but… we both vowed that as long as we had loved together, we would never be alone."

"That's sweet. Clichéd, yes but sweet."

"Have you ever been married, Melissa?"

"No. Sadly, all of my engagements have fallen through." There was at least some vague truth to this statement. She hardly sounded sorry or sad.

"It's a shame. I don't think I have to lay it all out for you why that is."

"You don't. I'm partially glad that I'm not married. If I was, I probably wouldn't be sharing this tea with you!"

"True, very true!"

"Is it really all that wonderful? I mean, wouldn't you rather live your life without having to worry about your spouse and do what you want to do?"

"I believe it comes down to who you marry. If you both understand each other, then there shouldn't be a problem with doing what wills you. Mercy, you make marriage sound like a cage, Melissa. Your outlook on it seems so bleak."

"I suppose I've just had some bad experiences is all."

"If you need to get anything off your mind, I'm here." Throughout the conversation, Rebecca's attitude had been bright and friendly. But, with her last statement, she seemed highly serious and a look of concern had entered her eyes. The dawn of some realization was beginning to cast light (or darkness rather) over Melissa. Something changed and all of a sudden she saw things from a different point of view. The obvious concern Mrs. Anderson had shown, the trust and the friendship she'd demonstrated to Melissa had touched her.

Something was all at once prompting Melissa to tell her the truth, all of it – her part in the rebellion, why she'd had three engagements that ended with purposeful accidents, and a number of things she'd never really been able to tell anyone. But she knew if she did reveal herself, she would never be able to face anyone again. Not Rebecca, not Aleale, nor James Norrington, and not even her own father.

The ticking clock on the wall caught her eye for a moment. 4:17. She knew Aleale didn't want her back until at least six but it wouldn't hurt to be early. It was a moment before she spoke. "Rebecca, you have no idea how much I'd like to say." Melissa rose from her seat, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she set the tea back down on the table. Mrs. Anderson rose as well, gazing imperceptibly at her friend. "I appreciate your friendship towards me and to be able to bare my soul would probably do a great deal of good for me. But…I have some obligations that I cannot ignore. Whatever happens within the next twenty-four hours, I want you to know that I wish the best for you." She would have said 'for you and your husband' but Fletcher Anderson would probably be dead. By this time, Mrs. Anderson was giving her a strange, almost mistrusting look.

"Your tone frightens me more than the future, Melissa. Whatever are you talking about?"

She wanted to just turn and walk out but she'd already said too much to do just that. This was the first time she'd ever begun to doubt her intentions and she was just as apprehensive as Rebecca was. "I can't explain at the moment." On the verge of saying 'perhaps another time,' Melissa muttered a hasty farewell and retreated from the drawing room, leaving Rebecca standing in confusion.

Her feet didn't stop until she'd reached the two-block mark from the rebel base. Finding a wall to lean against, Melissa fell into thought, mentally scolding and debating and a number of different things. How her attitude changed from this morning so quickly to now was baffling her.

"I can't back out now," one thought said.

"But there's something wrong; I can feel it. My heart isn't quite in it any longer," said another.

"What is this sudden indecision?"

"Why am I finding it so hard to discern what's right and wrong?"

"No, I know what's right! They, those navy pigs, are wrong! What I'm doing is right!"

"Is it…?"

Serious thoughts of running away flashed through her consciousness. She could take refuge somewhere and then cut port when the rebels succeeded. Aleale would no doubt hunt her down but it was a large world; there had to be somewhere…

No.

"I can't turn back," she murmured to hopelessly herself. The bold, brazen voice that had almost been lost among the others in her mind rose up strong and clear. "I can't turn back," she said again, louder and confident. As she spoke, her posture straightened, her eyes flashed, and the old Melissa Hart that had stepped into Port Royal with a mission returned. She turned towards the hideout and with a bold step, moved away from the corner. Melissa knew what she was about now.

But, lingering ever so softly near the fringes of her confidence and barely registering on the moral scale, was the doubt she felt and unpredictability Dantes had warned Aleale of.

--

4:30. The stiff breeze had died down almost simultaneously with the port traffic. At the distance the _Winged Demon_ and the _Black Pearl_ were stationed and with the weak wind, it would take longer to reach port. Knowing navy officers like he did, Dantes knew that, swamped in the murky waters of ennui, the men aboard the two navy ships were being lax in their guard. Sunset would be upon them within the hour and the murky color of both pirate ships would increase their camouflage.

And so, with a word to Sparrow and Barbossa, Dantes ordered the men to heave to and hoist anchor. All sails were let loose. Painted across the largest most visible section of the muddy brown sail was Dantes' symbol – a crimson saber leaning diagonally behind a black fanged skull with yellow eye sockets. The man's own demonic smile, leering and near-maniacal, made itself present whenever the motif was revealed.

That smile frightened many men, Joshamee Gibbs included. The wild look was visible even from the _Pearl_'s deck. He blanched, catching eye of it, and backed a few more steps away from the edge of the deck. One hand frantically crossed himself and he muttered a saying against bad luck.

As for Barbossa and Jack, neither man seemed phased by it. The 'mutinous first mate' watched Dantes with one bushy brow arched quizzically. Jack just ignored it, having seen it once and knowing, in his infinite and practical wisdom, that the smile was just the same as his after several rounds of rum or better. He was in the middle of a humming session as he positioned himself at the ship's wheel, the distant notes of _A Pirate's Life for Me_ audible across the deck.

Slowly and surely, both ships began to move as the wind breathed lightly into the sails. The _Pearl_ didn't need all of her sails out to make good time and Jack wisely kept her at Dantes' flank. If the man was as intuitive as rumor had it, it was better to stay out of range of his respective radar. But, this plan didn't last long.

"Sparrow!" Dantes called over as they began their beeline towards the port. "Move yer carcass out front!" Jack moved to protest but Barbossa planted a hand on his shoulder and gestured to the guns still emerged from the _Demon_'s sides.

"Best not press this quack's patience," he said slowly, heavy brow furrowed now. Jack made a sour face.

"I 'ad 'oped t' avoid this."

"Aye, me too. I just hope that bloody Commodore keeps 'is word we ain't gonna be shot on."

"If I know Norrington, he will. If he doesn't…" Jack paused to think, blinking somewhat owlishly before grinning. "Guess that goes t' show you I in fact, don't know 'im." Barbossa rolled his eyes.

"Just get 'er out front, mate." Gibbs, forgetting Dantes for the moment, took up a cry to open the sails and scoot the _Pearl_ out in front of the _Demon_. The mutton-chopped men squeezed one eye closed in distaste of the move on the demonic captain's part.

"Mark me words, this'll bode ill fer us, Cap'ns."

"We've gotten outta bigger scrapes afore," Barbossa said.

"We'll be fine, mate," Jack added, deftly manipulating the wheel before him. Despite the rivalry and dissent that had caused Barbossa to mutiny against Jack, the two still seemed to act like captain and first mate. It was more than likely that neither man knew about this affinity.

Gibbs grumbled to himself as he reached for the small leather flask that constantly hung from his belt and began to prepare for whatever might happen.

--

AN: I hope Melissa didn't come across as insane in this chapter. I typed this over several days at about 8-10 P.M. each time so if things are a bit…daft, forgive me. For this chapter title, I found that attempting to put it in French was difficult since I really don't know anything about it yet. Plus, leaving it in English just makes it sound…quirky, for lack of a better word. I think the 'deer in the headlights' phrase is definitely one of those anachronisms but I couldn't quite find a better phrase that would fit this time. And order 63 is totally uh…not real. Just a code invented solely for this chapter. Thanks to my loyal reviewer Erica and new reviewer Ramen Addict!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: _Les Soir_

A quarter-hour past six found the Commodore thinking, rubbing his temples mechanically and eyes squeezed shut as he took refuge within the confines of his mind and a lonely corner of Fort Charles. After all the preparation, the stress, anxiety, the constant running about to check progress made James realize something about himself: a trait he'd never acknowledged until after several rum-drunk months of Tortuga, more months in a nerve-wracking venture to find a dead pirate's acquaintances, and at least a week of halting all physical activity to take an opportunity to look at his life.

James Mayhew Norrington hated, loathed, and despised waiting with a barely distinguishable but inwardly obvious passion.

He'd never been known to be impatient per say, just rather punctual. If something was to be reported to him, he expected it to be ready when the due date came. Distaste was indeed expressed if said object/report/thing was tardy but this was something all superior officers did not enjoy. Emotions were easily held in check and were barely discernable in both work and play. But, more recently, his foot was often caught tapping with an air not unlike impatience. His regular tone of voice became sharper, harsher. An order was snapped off within several seconds and woe betided the man who didn't catch it the first time. This change of persona did not go unnoticed by his subordinates. The captains under him, during a staff meeting, mentioned subtly this 'alteration.' The lieutenants and midshipmen promptly kept their mouths shut.

James had always tried to keep a pleasant relationship between himself and the lower officers. He didn't respond with the snappy retort he wanted to but paused in an attempt to regain his former self. From there, he went on to explain his behavior. "_There are events in a man's life that change him. For better or worse. Those changes prove difficult to reverse._" He hadn't liked to admit this openly but this new Norrington had prompted him to say it. Time in the company of pirates had indeed changed him.

Hayward had long since reported William and Elizabeth Turner's arrival within his elite garrison. Though often grim-faced, the young man was a prime example of a resolute, trust-worthy officer and was at the top of James' list for a promotion. Hayward hadn't failed to include how the couple stuck out amongst the soldiers in an example of the lieutenant's somewhat dry but unique sense of humor.

The sun was three-fourths of the way gone from the heavens, its bright red-orange hue reflected on the choppy Caribbean water. Torches were being lit steadily as night moved in and its dark hand hid the light beneath fingers of shadow.

--

The leading edge of the night brought with it a fateful premonition as the almost foul tide carried an equally fateful ship upon its shoulders. Unbeknownst to Jack Sparrow and Hector Barbossa, Dantes had sent forth his means of securing the harbor. The two long boats were ten minutes ahead of their mother ship. Thirty-two men divided into two groups of sixteen rowed tirelessly, barely a sound emitting from their swift-moving oars. Just as Norrington had sent forth a group of his best men, so had Dantes. The long-boat pirates' intent: to sabotage the two sentinel ships guarding the harbor under the cover of newly-fallen darkness.

Barbossa's entire crew had once sallied forth to do their own disabling of the _Dauntless_ which was, perhaps, a bit of overkill. Kordell Dantes believed in a highly-skilled crew and was completely confident that it didn't take forty men to conquer a navy ship. He'd done it himself once before, during the battle for the _Demon_ that gave him the identifying scar that made his left eye droop slightly.

The lack of men aboard Dantes' ship didn't hinder her at all. The burly frigate had at least two dozen more men aboard, more than enough to manage the sails, rigging, and guns. Since the frigate was taken over in a mutiny, Dantes had garnered many men to sail under his flag. The social outcasts, the villainous citizens of the North American ports that fell victim to Dantes, dropped their civilian lives without a word of protest and took up the pirating gauntlet. Many of these men had lost their lives at sea aboard the _Winged Demon_ in fights or storms or anything else that calls a man to his maker.

Barbossa had been observing Dantes' ship for some time after they set sail for Port Royal. Gibbs had grumbled something about counting his eggs before they hatch but Barbossa ignored the man and continued to point out the _Demon_'s attributes and characteristics and what he'd change when it became his ship. The name would have to go of course. It was too flamboyant for his tastes.

In the meantime, Dantes spent his time watching the mouth of the harbor for the signal Peckover would send once they secured the two sentinels. The _Pearl _was less than half a cable-length ahead of them, her path zigzagging slightly. An efficient direct approach would need more speed than could be coaxed from their sails at the moment. They needed surprise on their side. Dantes' heavy brow furrowed and the eyes beneath it narrowed, an inhuman glow swirling in their depths. The crocodilian man, the _Demon_'s navigator, appeared beside him. "'Til be three quarter hours to full nightfall, cap'n. 'Twill be close to 'alf that time when we reach port," the man reported. Dantes, rubbing his scrubby chin thoughtfully, nodded. There was a question on his mind. He knew the answer but it helped to have second opinions. Dantes half wished his first mate was beside him and not off board.

"What's your thoughts on Barbossa and Sparrow?" The dark-skinned man sent him a wary glance.

"If I may be so bold, sir…Barbossa seems the only one o' 'em that has his wits 'bout him. I may be wrong, since I only seen em up close once."

Yes, Peckover would have been a bit more helpful. Dantes nodded again, waving the man off. He did happen to agree that Barbossa did seem a bit more gathered than his shorter companion. But then again, looks could always deceive.

--

The darkening streets of Port Royal were utterly empty, devoid of life apart from the occasional rat scurrying from building to building, sometimes being chased by a cat. The civilians had long since been rounded up and sent inside. With night falling rapidly, the rebels moved equally swift. Dark figures swept suddenly through the streets, the clink of pistols, swords, and other various armaments barely audible.

Aleale's velvety visage was profiled against the almost non-existent light of the new moon as she paused to oversee her army's progress as they slipped by her, silent as the grave. A few of their expressions were frightened, a few of them eager. And there were several like her own, practically devoid of that thing humans called emotion. Melissa appeared beside her suddenly. Perhaps the woman was trying to startle her but Aleale just sent Melissa a leveling look. The Spaniard wore one of those eager faces and didn't flinch from Aleale's commanding gaze. "They're moving fast," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Looking back towards the steady stream of men, Aleale only nodded. "Those soldiers won't know what hit them."

"Don' be foolish. Dhey know we're comin' and more n' likely, dhey know about when." Aleale's dark gaze flickered over the buildings at hand and towards the looming figure of Fort Charles farther out. "Dhey'll be ready."

--

It was a hard thing to sit and wait. Elizabeth tapped one foot impatiently, constantly glancing up at the darkened sky. Will placated his own pre-battle jitters with whittling at some random piece of wood with his father's knife. The constantly glowering man called Hayward had barely put down his spy glass since they'd arrived. The man seemed insistent that if he, for only one fleeting moment, lowered his guard or spyglass, the signal from the fort would go unnoticed. As if there weren't several dozen more pairs of eyes apart from his.

Elizabeth happened to glance out towards the ocean and just barely caught a glimpse of the sun as it dropped completely below the horizon. A faded, worn glow permeated the sparse clouds left in the sky until finally, it too died and only the stars remained. Suddenly, the shot of a lone musket jerked through the impatient atmosphere and utter silence fell over the group of soldiers. Hayward, eyes wide, had lowered his spyglass. Across the quiet port, the sound of battle began. It was a whisper at first, almost staccato-like before the nigh-continuous bursts of pistol shot echoed and created a full, intimidating sound.

Hayward's tone was so low that it seemed to take a few seconds for the order to arms to sink in. "Ready weapons," the lieutenant repeated, a little more persistently. The soldiers hopped to it, amazingly silent as they moved about to make sure their muskets and other armaments were ready for battle. Will was on his feet, already prepared. He looked for all the world as calm as a dead tide but the restless movement of his fingers drumming on his sword hilt gave the blacksmith away. Elizabeth's own expression was coolly determined but the butterflies in her stomach refused to be quelled. _I should be used to battle_, she thought. _I've fought against a Kraken, for Heaven's sake!_ But then she remembered that this battle, while containing pirates, was not quite the same. Hayward moved to brush past her but paused to lock eyes with her. "I didn't particularly approve of the Commodore's decision to allow you along, but if he believes in you, then I suppose I do as well." It was a lot from him, considering his temperament. This was lost on Elizabeth, who only nodded. Hayward, tipping his hat slightly, moved off to make sure each man was armed efficiently.

The elite group wouldn't move in until the signal came. More waiting was to come.

--

His eyes opened suddenly, instantly roving over the deck with a trained glance. All seemed calm. A few marines roved about, casting bored glances out to sea. There were men at the anchors, ready to bring them should the need arise. Looking up, he could see the watch in the crow's nest hanging a hand over the bucket's edge and swinging it back and forth. The overall ambience of the ship was an almost subtly alert boredom. Yes, everything seemed to be in order. But what had that feeling been? What had brought Anderson from his light doze?

It wasn't often a ship's crew stayed up on watch and Anderson was never one to roam about like his superior officer. His advantageous position in a deck chair allowed him to see all angles of the ship without having to be ubiquitous. To be honest, he was more a gentleman than a sailor despite his love for the sea.

But what had it been? A premonition seemed to pass before him as the captain rose from his seat to roam about the upper deck. Anderson chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle ominously. This innate ability had been useful more than once. However, the last time one of these omens struck had been more than ten years ago. Why now? Anderson suppressed a shudder as he paused on the quarterdeck and cast his own furrowed gaze across the dark, choppy waters, fancying he heard the slap of an oar.

Peckover almost clubbed the man who inadvertently dipped his oar a bit too enthusiastically, causing a _smack_ that was overly audible to the sixteen pirates. A stroke of luck had blessed them. Ordering the long boat alongside the _Dauntless_, Peckover seized the main chains as they approached and managed to haul his one-legged self onto the brig. With amazing agility, he scrambled up the side to poke his head up just enough to see on deck. Ah yes, the Lady Luck was smiling upon them tonight. The marines and men on board were faced away from Peckover, out towards open water and away from the cliff face across from Fort Charles. Even the captain seemed preoccupied.

The first mate scooted down a few loops and signaled to his men. _Douse the lamps_. One man slipped a make-shift anchor from the bow of the long boat to keep it in place while the pirates snuck aboard. Meanwhile, the other fourteen men moved silently onto the main chains beside Peckover. The first mate poked his head up again. The "lobsters" were still looking away. A stained smile the only thing visible on his equally stained face, Peckover motioned to the men to his sides. Three of them were up on deck with the quietest of _swoosh_es and within seconds, the ship was plunged into darkness. Across the harbor, the same thing befell upon Cook and the _Expedition_.

Dantes laughed aloud as Peckover's signal reached his slightly glowing eyes. It was the sheer lack of fire's warm glow that signified the sabotage crews' arrival at the sentinels. He cast a glance over his shoulder. The sun's light had died beyond the horizon and a dark moon was rising in its place, a black orb barely visible among the stars.

--

AN: I really have to apologize for taking so long. More action will be taking place next chapter, I promise! Thanks as usual to my uber-awesome reviewers Erica, Kiroo, and Dara Natalia. (Did I spell that right?_ Hahaha_)


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: Venez les Bord

The rebels didn't hesitate once they reached the fort. Aleale had them up and over the walls in one swift movement. At least five soldiers were killed silently in the first thirty seconds and it looked as if more would be killed that way. Then, the shot rang out and one of the rebels hit the deck with a shriek. All hell broke loose after that, moving like a disease through Fort Charles' stone corridors. Within the first five minutes of contact, the struggle was underway. The battle sounds echoed throughout, reaching the ears of the men stationed in the innermost courtyard where the gallows dwelt. A few of the marines shifted nervously but a kick from their sergeant settled that.

"Linde!" The sergeant of marines, a thick-bodied bull of a man, glanced up from his disciplined line of redcoats to find Commodore Norrington practically bearing down on him. Linde snapped a quick salute.

"Sir."

"Do they appear to be all in?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any lingering outside the walls?"

"Just sent a man 'alf a tic ago, sir. Ah, there 'e is." James turned to find a redcoat jogging down the row towards them. Panting slightly, he fell into attention and saluted smartly.

"Outside's clear, sirs. All rebels must be currently within the fort, sirs."

"Jolly good, corporal. Fall back in line," Linde said with a nod. The corporal saluted yet again and disappeared into the ranks. "The opposition should be upon us then, within the moment, Commodore."

"Excellent, sergeant. Carry on." A small spark entered the Commodore's eyes. _The blaggards won't know what hit them_. And saying that, James pivoted on one heel and moved swiftly along the ramparts, bee lining for the only canon that currently had men by it. A young man, midshipman of rank snapped to attention. "Midshipman! Fire off a one pound shot of powder to alert Lieutenant Hayward."

"Aye aye, sir," the teen replied. A resounding boom from the signal canon left his head ringing slightly but it was like music to his ears. Everything was going according to plan. Hayward would bring his men in and the rebels would be taken by surprise and quelled. Nothing like a bit of their own tactics used against them. He turned to look across the gallows' square just as a stream of rebels burst in, yelling like demons. The soldiers in the courtyard were ready, the sound of several dozen muskets going off at the same time followed by the startled screams of the rebels. Those behind their fallen comrades took the opportunity while the marines were reloading to scatter and take refuge behind what little cover there was. And so, the firefight between the lobsters and the opposition began.

Aleale had been right to suspect Norrington's troops and her own men to be equally matched. She hung back somewhat, keeping an eye on things, only shooting when someone shot at her. Her inexperience showed through in this battle. Smalle and Ballon had been taken by surprise but Port Royal was a different beast. Having Dantes on her side during the first two battles had been a great advantage. This time round, however, he had had little to say in the ways of tactics. And with the demon-like captain out in the harbor, Aleale had no one within striking distance to help. But, luckily (and she refused to call it luck in spite of herself), things seemed to be going 'according to plan.'

--

Fort Charles emitted a boom and the crack of gun powder combusting echoed audibly through the silent port town, a big rolling noise that seemed to drown out every other noise. Hayward signaled suddenly and the men around Will and Elizabeth leapt into action. The couple found themselves covering the rear as the small garrison moved swiftly into position. There were enough men to spread out around the fort to have a comrade within thirty feet of another but they split into small groups instead, pausing by the various entrances to wait for their lieutenant's signal. Hayward happened to end up paired with Will and Elizabeth. It probably wasn't by accident, Elizabeth figured. O-K signals passed in from the left and right, telling them that the others were in position. "Are you ready?" Hayward queried his face a mask of seriousness.

"Aye," they both answered. Hayward signaled with a cutting motion of his arms to the soldiers and, kicking in the door, dived in without another word. Anticlimactically, the hallway they entered was empty. Up ahead, Hayward was hurrying along at a rapid pace, pistol brandished in one hand. Will and Elizabeth jogged to catch up but halted suddenly when they found the lieutenant leaning up against another wooden door. The man had his head pressed against it and appeared to be listening. He looked sharply at them.

"There is more than likely a large scale battle occurring on the other side of this door. I've heard of your reputation and know perfectly well that you're both self-sufficient but I will try and watch over you."

"We'll be fine," Will replied, nodding confidently. He felt a certain affinity with Hayward for some reason. They did seem to both be quite serious most of the time. Hayward nodded again and for a moment, Elizabeth thought she saw a flicker of humane concern flash across his stoic features. But, it was gone and Hayward with it as he pulled the door handle and plunged in.

--

The hiss of the waves striking and parting against the hull of the _Black Pearl_ would have been a welcome sound to Jack Sparrow's ears. It would have invoked a long flashback of hundreds of memories, each one of them filled with said noise and the rhythmic creaking of a wooden sailing ship. But, not tonight. Tonight, there was no time for memories. The _Pearl_ scooted easily into the harbor, Dantes' ship a little farther behind than when they started out. It was part of the plan after all… The _Pearl_'s two captains stood on the quarterdeck near the ship's wheel. Barbossa glanced at the dark eyed man to his left. Jack was staring forward resolutely. He barely seemed to bat an eye, even when the booming report of a cannon came rolling across the water. Barbossa allowed himself to arch one bushy eyebrow at the noise. It didn't escape Jack's attention. "Signal fire," he said suddenly. Then a more Jack-like expression seized him. "Or they missed us by a mile." He offered Barbossa a grin but the other man didn't return it. "Nothin' t' be frettin' over, mate. I'm sure Norrington wouldn't be shootin' this early, anyways."

"What's the signal fer then?"

"It probably has naught to do wiv us. I deduce it's aimed at alertin' someone fer something."

"Aye." At that moment, Hector's monkey Jack happened to drop down from the rigging and land on his shoulder. Jack (Sparrow, that is) jumped slightly, recoiling away from the monkey Jack with a grimace. The undead little thing had still managed to make it through yet another harrowing adventure at World's End. Monkey Jack accepted a small piece of bread from Barbossa's jacket and scurried off with his prize.

"Why d'you keep that thing?" Jack asked, one lip curled.

"Why d'I put up wiv you?" Barbossa returned, meeting Jack's gaze.

"Touché," Jack said after a moment. He cast a glance over one shoulder at the _Demon_. "So wot do you plan on callin' her?"

"Not quite sure yet."

"Eh, you'll come up wiv somethin'."

"Aye." The now-pleasant banter was interrupted by Gibbs, who appeared on the quarterdeck wheezing slightly.

"We're comin' up on the turn point, cap'ns."

"Good! Run out the guns," the unlikely pair said simultaneously.

"Aye, sirs."

--

The main body of the battle was going on in the courtyard. Ducking pistol fire, James moved swiftly along the top wall for a new vantage point. Both sides were quickly running out of ammunition but pistols would soon be irrelevant anyway. The more rebels that streamed in, the closer the battle came to close-quarters. No one other than the marines and various officers shot from the ramparts but that would change once the guns stopped firing. His last pistol on one hand and nigh-drawn sword in the other, James was on the verge of scooting along some open space when a strange sight halted him rather suddenly.

Across the harbor was…amazingly empty space. Pulling a very daft move, James stood with his back to the battle and gazed stupidly at the open water. Where were the sentinels? Black, black, absolutely black. Wait! What was that? Barely discernable over the noise of the fighting behind him came the sound of more pistol shots from the seemingly empty harbor. Here and there, the short flash of a pistol firing lit up the night. The ships were still there but something was going wrong. James moved his glance from the _Dauntless_ to look towards the _Expedition_ when he noticed something else. "The Pearl," he said. And close behind came another ship. The sight of the frigate reminded the Commodore startlingly of the _Flying Dutchman_. This must be the infamous Captain Dantes, he thought. It all became clear as the _Winged Demon_ sailed into port without so much as a warning shot across the bows from Anderson and Cook. Dantes must have sent men out to distract and or take the sentinels while Dantes himself sallied in without so much as a "Hey, you!" from his opponents.

James whirled around, an order half out of his mouth, when a bullet caught the tip of his hat and sent it spinning over the wall in a stunning display of acrobatics. The rebels were on the wall. The hand bearing the pistol shot out and from that, a ball of lead shot out. On the stairs, a rebel fell with a shriek. James paused to cast one more glance around the fort. Where the devil was Hayward?

For the second time within thirty seconds, a bullet interrupted him. The Commodore wasn't sure what made him duck, but he did and it was a good thing he did. The projectile whizzed so precariously to his head, he felt the wind from it. He came back up, looking sharply about for the shooter. He found him down near the courtyard entrance. Well, he found _her _actually. A dark, icy cold gaze locked with his over the end of a smoking pistol and James immediately knew that this was the ring leader. She was pretty, in a dangerous, Black Widow sort of way. The woman nodded once, as if to say "Touché" and then she was gone, lost among the men battling around her.

A new sound captured James' attention. The battle cries of Hayward's division. Shouts of "Blood and Guts" and "Have at 'em lads" reached his ears. The lieutenant's gangling figure was cutting a swathe through the ranks, sword flashing in the air. James gave a yell of triumph. There was still a good amount of rebels within the courtyard but the sudden addition came as a surprise. His confidence raised a few pegs, James turned around again to look at the scene playing out on the harbor. Any minute now, the plan he and Jack Sparrow had concocted would be further set into motion. James was certainly convinced he had done the right thing by hiring the pirate.

He left the pirates to fight with the ships and dashed into the fray to fight with what he fought with best: a sword. Outdone by none less than William Turner himself and matched only by Hector Barbossa, James was one of the more accomplished duelers in the port. Sword play was his forte, right up there with the piano. He tried not to truly kill the rebels, feeling a bit on the fence about it. The business part of him said that in general, they were a threat to the Crown and had to be stopped. The other half said that there may be a chance to talk with them, get them to agree to a treaty or something of the sort. But, unfortunately, his business half controlled his sword hand and had a mind singularly of its own.

--

"Ready anchor!" Jack's voice sent several men into motion as they scurried up to the starboard anchor. He turned on one booted heel to look back at the _Demon_, estimating the distance between to be back to less than a cable length. "Gotta time this right…" he muttered to himself. Jack wet the tip of one finger and thrust it into the air. Nice and steady but not enough to have Dantes rammed up their arses. From down on deck, Barbossa stood watching Jack still up on quarterdeck, waiting for the signal. It was an agonizing five seconds before Jack, his hand still in the air, made a cutting motion with said hand. Barbossa almost didn't have to turn around and shout "Drop anchor!" for the crew had seen the signal. The great anchor hit the water with a splash and Jack's voice came to them again. "Hold on to something!" All the available hands dived for rigging or mast or cannon as the anchor caught and snapped the _Pearl _around in a good 180 degree turn.

Gibbs, unfortunate enough to have missed the railing near Jack slid across the deck with a yelp and landed up against the deck wall. He could hear the men below deck with the guns whooping as the _Demon _came into sight. The first mate groaned, cursing Elizabeth Turner up and down for coming up with that little trick.

Less than a cable length away a moving at a good few knots, Dantes bared his teeth in fury in spite of himself. He had known all along that they'd pull something like this and, in preparation, had run out his own guns. Even then, it burned his soul that Sparrow and Barbossa dared share trust with him and then go back on their word. In fact, the words _Never Trust a Pirate _were screaming through his mind like banshees. "Hard to starboard!" he snapped, back handing the nearest pirate in anger and inadvertently sending the unfortunate man overboard. The man at the wheel balked audibly and wasted no time in the spinning the wheel. Dantes turned back as if to stare down the black bulk of the _Pearl _partially rising up to meet them, guns bristling. His beloved ship groaned with the effort of the sudden turn.

Jack grimaced as he clung to some railing. He almost issued the anchor drop too early. The _Demon_ came within about a 150 feet of the _Pearl, _sheering off to the right. "Fire at will, lads!"he shouted and the order echoed throughout the ship. Jack caught sight of the guns poking out of the other ship just before they went off almost at the same time the _Pearl_'s did. Grape shot flew close above his head, thunking into wood and the poor soul standing at the wheel. Jack scrambled to his feet, pistol in hand. The snappy reports of small gun fire were already echoing over the harbor and Jack added his to it, seeing a successful shot into the nearest opponent.

As it turned out, the plan was rather ill-fated. The _Demon _scored several damaging shots on her opponent and kept right on moving, leaving the _Pearl_ bobbing in her wake. Jack practically felt Barbossa staring him down from the bow but chose not to look in his former first mate's direction. Jack brushed a bit of soot from his shoulder, shoving his pistol back into his waist sash. "So much for according to plan," he muttered, watching longboats shooting out from Dantes' ship and in towards shore. Jack bit his lower lip. Norrington would have some trouble on his hands.

--

After several harried minutes of strong fighting, Elizabeth found herself leaning up against an obscure corner of the fort, a small cut above her eyebrow dripping blood into her eye. She brushed it away angrily and looked around for something to do. Most of the fighting had moved off into other parts of the large fort. Hayward she'd lost track of but Will was always nearby. He now jogged up to her, breathing hard. "The action's moving on," he said before catching sight of the cut above her brow. "Are you all right?"

"So I've noticed and yes, I'm fine." Elizabeth pushed away from the wall and the couple hurried on towards the courtyard. The press of men inside the square was amazing. It seemed as if the entire fighting force in Port Royal times two had been squashed all together in this one place. The movement was hectic and maddening. Here and there, she could catch sight of soldiers she recognized. There were Murtogg and Mullroy fighting back-to-back. There was Hayward attempting to overpower a man twice his size. And there was James dueling with a rebel up on the wall. Elizabeth moved to step into the battle and assist one marine who had two men dogging him when a blade came out of nowhere, forcing her to dance backwards and away from the weapon.

Her gaze snapped up to meet the gaze of another woman. Elizabeth's opponent was dressed similarly to her. A few empty pistols hung from her waist. An officer's sword was weld in one gloved hand. The woman's incredibly dark brown hair was pulled back neatly but a few strands had come loose to fall across her tan forehead.

Melissa had been partly surprised her opponent was someone of the same gender. But this surprise didn't show as she nodded to Elizabeth, challenging her. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and the two met with a clang of steel. The two sparred back and forth, moving swiftly along the inside wall. No one seemed to notice two women fighting beside them. Several minutes into the duel, Elizabeth found herself being pushed backwards. This woman seemed more skilled than she looked. More and more often, Elizabeth had to block and go on the defensive instead of the opposite. Melissa knew it, too. Her eyes grew a bit brighter as the outcome of the duel became amazingly apparent. Suddenly, Elizabeth stumbled up against a wall and Melissa's sword hilt came out of nowhere, knocking against Elizabeth's temple. From there, everything went black for Mrs. Turner.

Up on the ramparts, James disarmed the rebel with a flick of his wrist and promptly knocked the man senseless all in one swift movement. He picked up his feet and ran on, stooping to grab the rebel's dropped weapon. A small lull occurred in the battle and the Commodore paused once more to check progress. He did a double take, noticing the absence of one rather large ship in the harbor. His gaze followed a sparse trail of wreckage inland to see the _Demon_ anchored out a ways and long boats beached on the sands. The _Pearl _was in the process of issuing long boats out to the sentinel ships and towards land. But what scared James the most was the utter lack of movement aboard the _Demon_. Things were going awry. By now, almost the entire frigate crew would be upon the fort! He whirled around and suddenly began noticing the dark menacing figures cutting subtly in, cutlasses flashing in the torch light. He suppressed an unwanted shudder. These pirates could be called equals even to Davy Jones' crew.

He focused suddenly on one particular battle. Hayward was successfully fending off three rebels. His blade flashed and one of the rebels was down. Then the next. And finally, the last one fell. The lieutenant grinned triumphantly and turned to find another battle to win when something interfered with his plans. The sharp report of pistol seemed to ring out above the sound of battle, the noise hadn't been heard in so long. Hayward dropped his sword, eyes locked on the smoking hole on his breast pocket, mouth agape. He stumbled backwards and finally collapsed onto his back. James could not keep an expression of shock from his face as he tore his eyes away from the lifeless young man to find his killer.

The man was monstrous and not just in size. A leering visage seemingly frozen in a ghastly smile made up the man's face, a set of glowing yellow eyes amazingly visible under the brim of a dark tri-corn hat fringed with lank, black tendrils of hair. Dantes the Demon had arrived.

AN: Gosh, I hope the tense, etc. on my title is correct…-phew- Glad I could get this chapter done before the holiday break. Kudos to all my reviewers and free Jack plushies for all! Happy Thanksgiving!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: Le Mal Sens

The snake had two heads. Losing one particular head would cripple the beast more effectively than losing the other. It took more inside information to figure out which head was the weak one for they both looked the same, smelled the same, seemed on the outside to be of equal importance. With limited information, one would have to guess which head to cut off. Which was just was James intended to do.

Dantes was in his sights and he hoped to the heavens that the pirate's frightening crewmen weren't as competent without their leader as they were with him. The somewhat tentative approach he had taken against the rebels was gone as he ran, haphazardly knocking men from his path up on the wall. In the midst of it, his second sword had been lost in a rather grizzly looking pirate who went in death throes over the rampart, toppling to meet his fate. Dantes' crew had made a dent in the fort's forces with their pistols and it was becoming more of a struggle than an equal match.

One of the pirates, a crocodilian looking man, rose up before the Commodore, swinging two lead balls at the end of some chains. James skipped to the wall side of the ramparts as one ball smacked into the stone where he had stood. The next swing was dodged, James' feet leaving the ground momentarily as he jumped. The gleaming sword in his hand fell with no hesitation upon the pirate but skittered off the hard scar tissue that covered the pirate's body like armor. The man knew it, too for a leering grin split his stained visage from ear to ear.

The man swung his weapons again, nearly taking the Commodore's nose and knees off, respectively. He was forced backwards as the barrage continued, sparks flying from his sword as he fought to parry what he could. There was a bit of a disadvantage here. He half wished that second sword hadn't gone over the wall. Someone James had known always said two was better than one. Maybe not all the time – somewhere around seventy to eighty percent. But, nevertheless…

He procured a second weapon from the chest of an anonymous, fallen person. It was a small axe and felt awkward and heavy in his hand. However, it did the job and the backwards progress ceased. The pirate sneered at this new development and doubled his own efforts.

--

Back in the harbor, Jack didn't waste any time trying to get the anchor back in. He swiftly issued orders to the long boats and then sent said boats to several places – port and the sentinel ships. It was a fairly even split into thirds considering the three, maybe four dozen men on board. The _Pearl _would have to sit and wait, empty, in the harbor. Jack was sorely tempted to stay behind with the ship but they weren't being paid to sit and watch. Gibbs patted him on the shoulder, reassuring his captain that she'd be just fine. The anchor was out anyway but, to appease poor Jack, the second anchor was dropped as well, leaving the _Pearl_ no chance to escape on the tide. And Gibbs doubted the monkey would be able to do anything. Barbossa took towards the _Exhibition_, Gibbs took a crew to the _Dauntless_, and Jack headed inland to help where he could. At best, they'd be able to replace the men lost so far.

It was cannon fire that almost interrupted their sally into battle. In the prow of the long boat, Marty barely ducked a spray of water as a cannon ball hit the water with a splash to the port. "Evasive action!" Jack shouted, shielding his face from more spray. It was the men left on Dantes' ship firing on them. "That blackguard 'as more foresight n' we bargained for," Jack growled to himself, scowling.

"Better eye sight, too," one man proclaimed next to him, pointing towards the burly _Demon_. A few men had a view glass out, watching where the shot was hitting and shouting measurements to their comrades below.

"So t'would seem."

"Return fire, captain?" Marty queried, barely managing to keep a hold on a rifle with his small hands.

"Return fire but make sure you aim. Can't be wastin' shot, mate." The dwarf nodded and the rest of the men took up arms to fire back.

Meanwhile, more cannon fire interrupted Barbossa and Gibbs. The other pirates must have gained more control over the sentinels and there couldn't be more than a dozen marines on each ship left fighting. A fire had started on the _Exhibition_ and men were scurrying to douse to flames, pirates and navy men alike. This helped Barbossa and his men, for their dark silhouettes against the flames proved to be easy targets, even for muskets and rifles.

Gibbs wasn't nearly so lucky. His long boat was being sorely pressed for evasive action and the lack of light gave them little to no targets, only the brief flashes of the cannons giving them sight into the ship's belly. But, without any mishaps and with many oath-mutterings from the first mate, they managed to scramble aside the _Dauntless_ and begin to climb up the main chains, swords in mouths and pistols half-cocked in belts.

--

Will hadn't missed Hayward's death either. He felt some grief at the loss but wasn't devastated. As Gibbs had once said, let us not wallow in our grief. But now, he was caught between going after the dark, new foe on the battlefield and looking for Elizabeth. He'd lost her in the chaos as the pirates flooded in, blasting away with their pistols. A man with a belaying pin interrupted the visual search for his wife.

With the opponent down a minute later, Will was moving swiftly through the fighting ranks, eyes roving for Elizabeth. It didn't take long before he saw a woman but it wasn't Elizabeth. He watched the dark-haired female fly by making for a marine that had hesitated in attacking. And not three yards away was that pirate captain. Will's mind was in a flurry in spite of himself and whirled around in place for a moment, not sure where to go. He finally spotted Elizabeth and he felt his heart leap into his throat. She was crumpled by a wall near the bottom of some stairs, motionless.

His booted feet were moving before he knew it and he prayed that his fears were not about to be realized.

--

A flick of James' wrist sent the hand axe among the pirate's chains and disrupted their whirling. The ball halted its former motion and wrapped around the axe's handle and rapped him smartly on the knuckles. He didn't pause to see what damage had been done but he couldn't shake the numb feeling creeping down his fingers from the impact. Another flick had that particular weapon flying through the air, leaving them both with only one weapon. The pirate snarled at him, watching with disdain as his weapon sailed through the air and out of his reach. James took advantage of this and had the scarred man reeling back on his heels to parry the swift jabs and swings of the Commodore's sword.

The stairs were coming up fast behind the pirate but James dare not even glance at them, for fear of giving away this sudden development. Thankfully, the pirate didn't notice and with a backwards step went toppling with a yelp down the stairs. James was right behind him as he went down two steps at a time. He rounded the corner at the bottom, not even noticing Will crouched over an unconscious Elizabeth.

Dantes was the process of tossing a man away from him when he spotted another man making straight for him. A fixed, determined look that clearly said "I plan on seeing you die" was plastered on the man's face. There was a bruise blossoming on the man's jaw and a half dried cut shone near the hair line of a powdered wig. Gold glittered on the navy man's lapels and Dantes could tell he was of high rank. Realization dawned on him. Norrington.

The yellow-eyed stare of the reputed pirate sent a shudder through James right down to his toes but it went ignored. He had expected Dantes to turn and ready himself for the impending battle but what happened next brought James to a skidding halt a few paces away. Dantes' arm shot out and when he pulled it back in, Melissa Hart was clutched in one great hand while the other had a pistol jammed to her temple. An unpleasant smile crept across Dantes' dark features and his eyes glowed for a moment.

Around them, the battle went on oblivious to what was happening. Melissa finally found herself shivering in fear. She'd only viewed Dantes from afar and proclaimed he didn't look so formidable as people said. Her thoughts had changed now that a cold pistol was pushed against her temple, an equally cold arm wrapped around her waist. Dantes emitted an icy aura she'd never felt before and literally froze her in place. At first, the contact between them had been unexpected and a number of protests had arisen in her mouth. Upon meeting the pistol up close and seeing the Commodore skid to a halt a few paces away, she knew why Dantes had grabbed her.

It was the pirate who spoke and it was a smug, knowing voice at that. "A pleasure t' finally meet you, Commodore. Were you plannin' on fightin' me?"

Melissa watched Norrington's eyes narrow in anger but he didn't speak. Dantes continued. "Really? Tut tut, that be a shame." He pushed mercilessly against her head with the pistol. "We wouldn't such a fine piece of work to be marred now, eh?"

An angry retort shot out of Melissa before she could control herself. "Let me go, you brute!" she cried, struggling but Dantes' grip was like iron and he ignored her completely.

"Eh, Commodore?" Dantes asked again. Melissa locked her wide-eyed gaze on Norrington. He seemed utterly at a loss, trying to speak but obviously having nothing to say. It was puzzling to her. Melissa knew she'd been reported as a conspirator against the Crown by those two bumbling soldiers. If this rebellion failed, she'd be sent to hang. Why didn't he just attack? At one point, she thought he was going to. A vice-like grip on his sword hilt turned Norrington's knuckles white for a moment and he seemed to want to jump forward. But something held him back. Melissa couldn't tell what it was. She wouldn't find out.

While this went on, a nearby pirate noticed the one-sided conversation. It was, in fact, the scarred man that fell down the stairs. He had a bloody lip and limp from the fall but a leering smile attacked him. The face of his captain could be seen just over Norrington's shoulder and the pirate saw Dantes nod once. James picked up on it and turned to face this new opponent. But it was in vain. The pirate whirled his remaining ball once and cracked the Commodore on the head just as he turned around.

The impact sent stars across James' vision and the cobblestones rose up quickly to meet him. The sound of his sword clattering on the ground and the malicious laughter of the demon captain were the last things he heard before darkness claimed him.

--

AN: The chapter title translates to be "the wrong direction" but again, I'm not sure if that's right. Ooh, cliffie. And such shortness. Forgive me for it and for being so late with an update! It was rather late while I was writing this and I knew if I added the second part I wanted to, it'd be intensely long. Too long, probably. I'm not sure when I'll be updating next but…anyway, enjoy and happy holidays!

EC1500


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: _"Peut-être"_

James opened his eyes and found himself standing on the edge of a drop off. The white cliffs of Dover spread out to his left and right and open water stretched before him. How strange, he thought dazedly. I'm not supposed to be here; I'm supposed to be in Fort Charles. He glanced down at his clothes. Yes, still the same uniform mucked with the grime of battle. The knuckles on his left hand were swollen. His sword was gone. Something sticky was clinging to his forehead, blood more than likely. All evidence that he had been in a battle recently. But what was he doing in _Dover_ of all places? He got a good look around him but paused in observing when a strange sight beset him. "Is that…a flying pig?" he asked himself aloud. A flock of flying swine winged about in the sky. And there was a woman entirely in pink dancing the tarantella nearby and shouting the names of playwrights. James clapped a hand to his head and a sharp pain was the result. "I've got to be dreaming!" he exclaimed, reeling. The strange vision ended suddenly as one of the pigs dropped out of the sky and knocked him off the cliff.

He now found himself on his back, eyes closed again. Distantly, he could hear a voice and there was someone smacking his left side of his face lightly as if to wake him. The pain in his head was excruciating and the tapping didn't help. "Sir?" He groaned in response, cracking his eyes open as he batted a hand at the man crouched over him. A sigh of relief escaped him as the tapping stopped. Things were a bit out of focus and James had to uncross his eyes to make out the man.

"Anderson?" he croaked, startled to see the man. He was supposed to be out in the _Dauntless_. Anderson smiled apologetically.

"Thank God, sir. We were beginning to think you were out for good."

"We?"

"Aye, sir." Cook appeared over Anderson's shoulder, a pale and disheveled wraith of his former self. Even most of the joviality he constantly had was gone and a melancholy look plastered his features. James roved around with his eyes for a moment, his brain trying to catch up. Bars to his right and front and solid brick wall every place else, a small barred window letting in the first pale shafts of morning light. A line of barred cells stretched out past Cook filled with slumbering, battle roughened sailors and marines, some of them injured or bleeding. The smell of old hay was everywhere. This registered as a blank at first but when the realization struck him, James groaned again, clapping a hand over his eyes. They were locked in their own jail.

"What happened?" he queried hoarsely, already knowing but needing another account. Anderson chewed his bottom lip a moment before answering.

"You must know we lost, then. As for Cook and I…Dantes sent out saboteurs to distract our forces while the main pirate crew heading inland. That black ship you spoke of tried to help but something must have gone wrong. While we're all fighting for our lives, the black ship's crew came and helped but it was to no avail." Anderson's expression was of humiliation. "Sixteen men all but incapacitated a force of near three times that size!"

"That's not 'elping, Anderson. Just go on," Cook said, slumping in embarrassment as well.

"Anyway, we were all captured, brought here and tossed on our duffs in these cells. You and the men in the fort were already captured."

James grimaced and with some difficulty, managed to sit up while batting the other two away from helping him. That was a mistake. The cell spun as soon as he was vertical and he squeezed his eyes shut again to make it stop. He was ultimately glad that the most of the men were asleep; he wouldn't have to face them for a while yet. "Are there any men who were in the fort battle that can recount what happened after I fell?" One hand reached up to probe his head and found the blood-caked source of pain, his last waking memory flooding back. That blasted pirate had clubbed him. James was half surprised his skull wasn't bashed in.

"I doubt it, sir," Cook put in. "We've been the only ones awake since capture."

"Then get some sleep, Cook, Anderson." James staggered to his feet and almost immediately regretted it. The two captains shared a look. "That's an order. I know the last time I checked, I was still the head officer here."

"Aye, sir."

"Aye."

James made his was gingerly towards the bars and leaned against them, closing his eyes again. He couldn't think straight, they were locked in their own jail house, and as far as he knew, Jack and the others had disappeared off the face of the Earth. Who even knew if they were still alive? The only thing registering at the moment was the fact that they had indeed fallen off the precipice into failure and loss. And he blamed himself for it. He didn't like this scattered, dazed way of thinking and wanted his normal, level-headed way of thinking back. Massaging his knuckles, James turned to put his back against the bars and slid down into a sitting position and waited for sentient thought to return.

At about the same time, Elizabeth also came to her senses in a place she hadn't expected – a room. It was a nice room: warm and cozy, well-furnished if a bit plain. She was lying on a bed under a blanket. Over all, she was still intact. This was great but what had happened at the fort? Had they won? Sitting up, she looked around and spotted Will asleep in a chair nearby, his chin resting on his chest.

"Oh good. At least someone's awake." The sudden voice made Elizabeth jump and she whirled around to find another unexpected something. Hector Barbossa sat with his booted feet propped up on a table. He whittled at a piece of wood in his hands and a cynical expression soured his features.

"W-What? You…How…?"

"Since ye asked so specifically," the pirate began sarcastically, "we lost. The rebels and pirates have control of the fort and all the little marines and sailors, officers included, are jailed up inside."

"We lost!" was all Elizabeth could exclaim. Will came groggily to his senses in the chair and rubbed at his eyes vigorously.

"Elizabeth, you're awake," he said, scrambling to his feet and hurrying over to her side. He knelt down on the floor, clasping one of her hands. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, the other hand absently prodding the bruise on her crown. "What happened at the fort? Why aren't we captured with the rest?"

Barbossa dragged his feet from the table, pocketing the knife and tossing the piece of wood away. "We showed up right as they were preparin' t' capture ye." He brandished a bandaged forearm. "That she-devil almost took me arm off. Y'both should be rather thankful."

"And t'was a good thing we shown up when we did," a new but familiar voice said from another room. Jack Sparrow waltzed in, brushing some dust from a liquid filled bottle. "Or else you'd be sharin' the same fate Norrington n' his lads are. I was quite amazed we even got away wif ye."

"I had a feeling you had some part to play in this," Elizabeth said swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Will rose beside her, turning to look at the pirate. Jack shrugged, popping the cork on the bottle.

"Lemme guess. Norrington gave it away." He didn't pause for an answer, flopping into a chair and lifting the bottle halfway to his lips. "Now, on to bigger and not necessarily better things. You 'ave a decision to make here." Jack turned to Barbossa. "It's as much your call as 'tis mine. Do we stay and fight and rescue the lads or do we go hijack Dantes' ship and sally out?" Inwardly, Jack wasn't even sure what he wanted to do. It seemed that a devil was perched on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil told him to just take the _Demon_ and leave Dantes. It would get Barbossa off his ship.

Meanwhile, the angel (a new acquaintance of late) was arguing to stay and fight. Norrington had put his trust, limited as it was in a pirate, in Jack and it'd be a black mark on his record. The devil muttered something about ignoring this new conscience. Lord knew what he'd gone through looking at all those black marks while he stewed in the Kraken's gut.

Barbossa didn't answer at first so Jack gave in and spoke. "I'm personally for stayin' and fightin'. It's an awful lot o' money to be givin' up if we leave. Savvy?"

This seemed to help the other captain a bit in deciding. "You make a good point."

"Wait." Will's voice broke in. "When did money come in to all this?"

Jack seemed to look the most guilty but grinned uncertainly. "Decision on my part, that. Long story." He took a swig from the bottle finally. Barbossa rose from his seat, brushing some wood shavings from his coat.

"I'll move out t' gather the men. You find a way into tha' jail," he said, jabbing a finger at Jack. The other nodded over the rum bottle. Barbossa glanced at Will and Elizabeth. "You two feel free to do what you want." And with that, Barbossa stalked out of the room. Silence fell for a few moments before Jack finished off the bottle and got to his own feet.

"Where's Mr. Gibbs?" Elizabeth ventured to ask, standing up slowly. Jack's expression fell oddly silent, a feat managed only by him. She sent an inquiring look towards her husband who only shook his head.

"Let's get to work on that jail," Jack said after another moment of silence. "Who knows what Norrington's done to the place since we've been guests there?"

--

Sneaking around the fort proved more difficult for three people than just two. Especially with a trio like Jack, Will, and Elizabeth. Dantes knew Jack by name and appearance. It was also rather doubtful that there was another woman among the pirates. Will just stuck out. Thankfully, the early hours found the enemy force slumbering after celebrating their victory, having eaten and drunken their fill of the military rations. The only real challenge was getting around the sleeping men without waking them.

It took about twenty minutes to get around to the jail. Ducked behind a corner several yards from the entrance, the trio beheld the crocodilian man and an accomplice guarding the stairs. Will noticed Jack was smiling somewhat. The pirate gestured for them to follow and waltzed out in plain sight. Will and Elizabeth shared a wild look but followed anyway. As soon as the crocodile man noticed Jack, he leveled a gun at him. "Wot's yor purpose 'ere?" he demanded. Jack pointed the gun away from him with a finger as Will and Elizabeth flanked him.

"Dantes sent us t' look over the pris'nors and make sure none of them's died over night," he replied easily.

"'Ow do we know yew ain't trickin' us?" Crocodile queried, glancing at the man beside him. Jack shrugged.

"You want t' question the captain?" That was all it took. Crocodile blanched and back off, tucking his gun into his belt. Then he noticed Elizabeth.

"Who's that?"

"New recruit. Now, move yer hunkers afore I have to report you," Jack said, waving his hand like a fan and pushing between the two. The couple followed uneasily under the eyes of Crocodile but made it down the stairs without mishap.

"Don't take too long, mate. That woman's down there," Crocodile called after them. The trio froze and looked at each other. That woman? Which one?

--

It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes after regaining consciousness that Melissa Hart came to visit. James looked up from his hands at her footsteps but immediately looked back down, barely hiding an irritated expression. She came to a stop before his cell, looking somewhat unsure. "Commodore."

"Ah, Miss Hart. Nice of you to visit."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" she asked again, her voice a whisper. "Why did you spare me?" James took a long time to answer and for a while, Melissa thought he hadn't heard her. She looked up from fiddling with her dirty nails to find him gazing imperceptibly at her. This had been the second time she'd received that look from one of her associates within the past 36 hours.

A slow, unreadable smile suddenly crossed the Commodore's face. "I've said it once before, Miss Hart." He chuckled, an almost melancholy sound. "Propriety. Its laws keep me from being able to see a woman be killed…no matter how liberated or independent she is. Chivalry may die in the future but …By George; I'll be hanged before I see it die within myself." His gaze shifted downward and Melissa almost didn't catch the quiet "again."

"But I betrayed you and this entire port. Doesn't that make you angry or frustrated?" He seemed to consider this question a moment less than the first.

"Since Dantes is bound to come down and shoot me in cold blood anyway, I might as well say." This, James seemed to say more to himself than anything. "I believe it hurt more than anything. I was angry but I couldn't but feel at least some anguish to find that someone I'd…" His brow furrowed, words escaping him. "…trusted? Yes…trusted, was a conspirator with the enemy. Yes, I did suspect you were up to something but not this." A pained expression creased his features momentarily as his gaze flickered over the injured men in the cell to his left. "And despite it all…I can't betray my feelings. Certain experiences have left me unable to do that any longer." He fell silent, wearing a melancholy mask. It was a rare show of emotion from the Commodore but it was a rare situation.

Unbeknownst to Melissa and James, Cook and Anderson watched the scene play out from the back of cell still pretending to be asleep. This was total different side to their Commodore that neither captain had seen before. They'd be the only ones to see it. Fletcher opened his mouth to say something but Cook's hand on his shoulder stopped any attempt at speech. Melissa chewed her lip for a moment, gaze cast to the ground. More of those rebellious thoughts of quitting Aleale's company had returned after the battle. Now that she'd seen Dantes was willing to sacrifice her, the idea of serving any longer was becoming unattractive. Even Aleale had been acting a bit differently towards her, acting more like Melissa was one of those expendable people. "If it helps…" she began, "I'm sorry." James snorted, smothering the tail end of the undignified noise with a fist.

"Well, 'sorry' isn't going to get these cell doors open." He got to his feet and gestured around. "I'm not even sure if anyone can…to help, I mean."

"Ah! That's where yor wrong, mate!" The familiar voice shot James up against the bars as he looked out towards the jail exit. Melissa, confused, turned as well to find a pirate standing in the morning sunlight that was streaming down the stairs to light up the various bits of gold decorating the pirate's hair.

"Captain Sparrow!" James exclaimed, gripping the bars. Jack grinned broadly and began to walk down the row towards them.

"Sorry state o' affairs you've put yourself in, eh James? Bugger, this place seems t' 'ave gotten darker since I was 'ere last!" he said, eyeing the jail as he walked.

"Don't call me James," James said, jabbing a finger at the captain.

"Aye, aye, Commodore," Jack replied.

"Very good. You-"

"Hold a tic!" Melissa interrupted, waving a hand to halt their conversation. She had been in a state of befuddlement upon Jack's arrival and was determined to find out why the 'pirate killer' was acting chummy with a pirate. She jammed a finger into the captain's chest. "Just who are you?" she queried, somewhat irritated. Jack appeared highly offended for a moment and brushed her finger away haughtily.

"Why, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said spreading his arms. "Captain of the _Black Pearl_. 'Aven't you 'eard the stories?"

James rolled his eyes, groaning. "Here we go…"

"No, I haven't heard the stories," Melissa said, shooting James a sharp look. Jack looked appalled. He turned to James.

"Are all the people in this port daft? Do they not read the 'papers?" He moved back to Melissa, leveling a finger at her. "You happen t' be the sixth person in the past month who hasn't 'eard of me. The _sixth_!"

"And that's a travesty?"

"Of course it is! I am the only man t' 'ave ever sacked Nassau Port wivout firing a shot. I-"

"Long story short…Jack, this Melissa Hart, Aleale's cohort. Melissa, this is Jack," James cut in. Jack grinned suddenly, sticking out his hand in greeting.

"A pleasure," he said and would have continued but a hushed voice from the stairs interrupted him.

"Jack, hurry it up. That man at the top of the stairs is getting suspicious."

"Is that Turner?" James queried.

"Oh, all right. Aye, it is." Jack turned to face the Commodore, forgetting Melissa for the moment. "Now, we 'ave a plan here…"

"Need I remind you we have an enemy associate within our midst?"

Jack looked back at Melissa, wearing an offended look. "Can you leave or something?"

"Excuse me? I don't think so. Besides…perhaps you've just convinced me to switch sides."

--

AN: -wince- Sorry this took so long. I've been getting distracted with my rediscovery of Invader ZIM and Jak and Daxter and plot bunnies have been assaulting me with their cuteness. I've already started a ZIM oneshot before I finished this chapter. –slaps wrist- But, I'm going to go back and watch the Pirates movies again maybe this weekend and renew my vigor. Thanks to my reviewers as always!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

AN: Again, sorry for the delay. At least it's a long one! I've had to force myself from broadening on Dantes. The more he shows up in the plot, the more background he seems to have appears. It's almost like he's creating himself and I know very well that I could write an entire plot with him alone. But, I'll control myself and keep the Fire and Brimstone coming. Thanks to my uber-awesome reviewers!

Just to avoid any confusion, the first little break between the perspectives is a bit of a backwards time jump.

Chapter 15: Le Démon

Noon found Dantes meditating on the platform of the gallows. It was an odd place for him to perch but the irony seemed to escape him. The noon sun was just taking its place in the sky and the fort was heating up as the day progressed. Many of the men were taking breaks in what shade they could find but the demon captain was right out in the middle of the sunlit square, the heat pouring down on top of him. A good many of the rebels were wandering if the man actually broke a sweat but Dantes' crew knew better. Heat, even as a force of nature, would never over take Kordell Dantes. That icy aura around him never seemed to go away defied many laws but they knew better than to ask if he felt any discomfort.

With one leg hanging over the edge of the platform and the other propped beside him, Dantes turned a shiny red apple in his hands, examining every facet, every flaw. His slightly sagging, scarred eyebrow rose fractionally as he deemed it worthy enough to eat. As he chewed thoughtfully, his thoughts wrapped around the recent happenings like a talon, tearing them apart to analyze every little detail. They had captured Fort Charles, by far the most prosperous port of the few on the island. They controlled the fighting force that kept it safe. Prized war ships were now under their command. Even though some rather important men like the governor and others hadn't been captured, there wasn't much they could do. Ballon and Smalle were no doubt still recovering from the attacks a few days before so no help would come. The civilians had so far kept to their dwellings and no one had appeared yet to see what had happened over night. Perhaps they were an experienced people in the ways of fort battles.

Dantes plucked the little stem at the top of the apple with a flick of his wrist and held it aloft. Now that the plan had been executed and was successful…what to do with the captured soldiers, sailors, and officers? The pirate rumbled a 'hmm' and his yellow eyes narrowed as he contemplated. For the general lot, maybe they'd march them off the cliff. Good enough. The officers... Dantes chewed on his lip for a moment and glanced up at the yard arm above his head. Yes, a hanging. That left one man.

Choosing between fates for Norrington was like deciding which chocolate to eat out of the box. Decide on one then a change of mind for a better one and then it starts all over again. Dantes took another bite of his apple. Honor was still a bit part in his decision. As a former Royal Navy officer, he knew much about the concept. Using the Spanish girl had been a bit under handed. Maybe he'd go one on one with Norrington to see if the man was skilled enough to kill him.

His expression soured slightly. No, that wouldn't do. What if Norrington succeeded? That was a rather big 'if' but Dantes wasn't about to take chances. Another 'hmm.' Death would be too good for the man who dreamed of seeing piracy itself swinging from a noose.

As Dantes wrestled with himself, Aleale appeared in the courtyard. The woman held herself like an aristocrat when she walked: head and chin high, a condescending expression, a confident, graceful poise. "Captain," she said, her sharp tone echoing across the quiet square. She halted just below him, looking up at the pirate as he sat on the platform. "We need t' start bein' rid of da soldiers n whatnot. Any idea 'ow?"

"Several, actually."

"Pick and we get started."

Dantes' heavy brow furrowed for a second. Something didn't feel right all of a sudden. He hopped down from the platform, hand going to his sword. "What?" Aleale queried. What crew members were in eyesight took immediate notice of their captain's actions and got slowly and uneasily to their feet. The rebels remained at ease wondering what their pirate allies were so upset about.

"This was far too easy," Dantes surmised after a few seconds.

"Takin' de fort?" Aleale scoffed. "Dhere's nothin' t' worry 'bout. Jus' because de battle wasn't nearly's difficult as was thought don' mean nothin'."

Dantes wasn't listening. His gaze had fixed on a distant rumbling. By now, Aleale had noticed it too. She took a step up beside him and was about to say something when the noise broke like a swell on the shore and a roaring stampede swarmed into the courtyard.

--

When Jack's plan really got moving was when things got interesting. Upon inadvertently converting Melissa to their side, Jack outlined the quick plan he had brainstormed on the way to the jail. It wasn't as spectacular as the pirate made it sound but even Anderson and Cook thought it had good ground after coming forward.

Jack was just turning to start the plan when an interesting someone showed up. "The crew's gathered. What's takin' ye?" Barbossa queried at Jack as he navigated down the jail stairs around an astonished Will and Elizabeth.

"'Ow'd you get past the guards?" Jack asked in return, gesturing to the top of the stairs as he stepped up to meet his partner.

"Those two? Trade secret," and Barbossa grinned. They never found out how he slipped by Crocodile and his accomplice. "Anyway, I'm assumin' you 'ave a plan?"

"Of course. You go run and fetch the crew to bring 'em 'ere, we spring this lot out o' jail and storm the fort. The rebels aren't exactly on their guard as one would expect and it should be rather easy t' just take 'em by surprise."

"Sounds feasible," Barbossa admitted and turned to head back out when he spotted Melissa, who was standing quietly near Norrington's cell. Immediately his expression grew suspicious. "What's she doing 'ere?" His hand went for his pistol but Jack waved a negative.

"She's on our side now, as it were." Barbossa relaxed a little but didn't take his hand off the butt of his pistol.

"Doesn't mean I'm goin' t' trust her," he grumbled and turned back up the stairs. Meanwhile, Will and Elizabeth had followed Barbossa down and let him pass. No one thought to watch him get past the guards again. Jack beckoned them and Melissa over.

"All right, let's get this thing started."

Crocodile's accomplice was asleep standing up and Crocodile himself was just drifting off into a welcome sleep when a voice jerked him out of it. "Oi, we've got a bit o' situation down 'ere, mate." It was the unfamiliar pirate from before.

"Wot is it?" Crocodile grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"It seems that the woman's just picked a fight wiv the newbie. Uh…" Jack glanced over his shoulder, expression worried. Two women arguing could be heard and a third voice, Will's was trying to break them up. "We're goin' t' need you and your little mate there to 'elp."

"All right," Crocodile sighed reaching over to slap the other into consciousness. Jack was already at the bottom by the time the two pirates started down.

"Better 'urry up, mate. They're drawin' blood!" Crocodile let out an exasperated sigh and the two trotted the rest of the way down, swords drawn. He had his mouth open to speak when something came out of nowhere and caught him full in the face. His accomplice made a noise like a dying fish, his eyes bugging out as Crocodile dropped like a rock, out like a light. He didn't get away fast enough before another something disabled him as well. "Part one, successful!" Jack said with a grin as he and Will moved to drag the unconscious pirates out of view. "Get that one's keys!"

Peckover's wooden leg made an even more audible sound on stone. He was in the process of running…well, thunking rather, a check of the fort to make sure nothing had gone amiss. The first mate was in high spirits after last night's victorious sabotage. Humming a sea shanty, he rounded the corner several yards from the jail entrance just as Will scrambled into position, posing as a guard. "Those navy rats been causin' yew any trouble?" Peckover queried as he walked by. "And ain't there s'pposed to be another wiv yew?"

"No, sir," Will replied to the first question.

"And the other guard?" Peckover asked again.

"Taking care of some personal business, sir."

"Ah. I can understand that. Right profitable fight last night, eh?"

"Oh, aye, rather." On the outside, Will seemed to be pulling off the Dantes' crew member rather well but inwardly, he was somewhat frantic and afraid that they may be discovered before the plan could happen. But, he was also amazed that the peg-legged pirate hadn't singled him out for being unfamiliar. Must have a large crew. He and Peckover made small talk for what seemed like an eternity when the "Ready?" signal from Barbossa finally came in the form of coughing sound from around the corner.

In the middle of a sentence, Will cleared his throat conspicuously and the sound echoed down the stairs. Peckover chattered on, still on the esteem-high from last night. The gathered group there froze at the sound. Jack made a strange gagging sound in response. That meant yes, Will's frantic mind shrieked. "What was that?" Peckover asked suddenly. Will shrugged indifferently.

"Probably one of those navy pigs dying or something."

"Aye, one can only 'ope."

Will turned to his left, drawing up suddenly and letting out a sneeze. "Pardon me."

"What?" Peckover asked, expression one of shock. How often was it that a pirate pardoned himself for sneezing?

Around the corner, Barbossa grinned evilly and turned to the amassed crew behind him. Almost all of them carried an extra pistol or musket and extra sword. They'd be crucial to arm the rest of the storming group. "Are we clear, Cap'n?" Gibbs pushed through to the front, pistol in hand and looking a bit worse for the wear. Jack will be glad to know his first mate's still in one piece, Barbossa thought to himself for a second.

"Crystal clear."

--

The sensation of seeing near to sixty men bearing down on you like a tidal wave is a rather frightening one. Peckover came to find this out quickly. His features fell instantly as Barbossa and the crew came charging around the corner. He staggered backwards to run when the rumble of footsteps halted him. Whirling around to face the jail, a sea of red, white, and blue broke from the entrance and ran him down. With Peckover out of the way, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ joined with the marines, etc. and handed off the extra arms to their new-found allies and continued on in their final attempt to secure the fort from enemy hands.

--

So, after all, the brilliant simplicity and lack of luster made Jack's plan highly successful. Those in the courtyard were taken completely by surprise. Well, at least the ones that weren't ready.

A portion of the marines, etc. and pirates had split off to clear out the rest of the fort and so the general group had been downsized. But, as size didn't quite matter in this little action, they weren't missed. A good percentage of the enemy force was dealt with within the first few seconds as pistols and muskets went off.

Dantes rallied his men readily and the rebels that hadn't been reached yet were scrambling up just as the fight switched to close quarters. Aleale also lost no time in jumping in to fight. The rebel leader was furious at herself for not realizing what Dantes had. Perhaps she really wasn't as experienced as she thought. The doubt that would normally befuddle a person only served as fuel for Aleale, however. She'd go down fighting if it ever came to it. Never again would she be forced into slavery. Never again.

Dantes was quite calm as the battle proceeded. Deep down, he had always had a feeling that if it ever came to this particular battle, it would be against their so-called allies, Sparrow and Barbossa and also Norrington's men. Group battles were things he found boring. Anyone nearby was a target. More men were killed more easily and more quickly in large-scale conflict than in any duel. And so, it wasn't surprising that a number of the casualties belonged to him. There was no anonymous pirate or marine in their opponent's force that could face against him. All of this was waltzing easily through his mind as he downed the hapless men who rose up to try and kill him. Dantes knew that Barbossa would probably put up a good fight. Sparrow? Certainly not.

It hadn't been at least five minutes into it that the third man he almost thought of found him. Norrington appeared as a skewered fellow toppled over before him. To Dantes, he'd always remember this as when the real fight began.

Aleale was still fuming over herself when her own real battle began. Melissa Hart appeared to her left. "Hart, assist me!" she ordered, turning as she did. It was a lucky thing. She barely managed to parry the jab from Melissa's sword. "What are y'doin'?" Aleale exclaimed. Their swords met in a clash of steel and locked together at the hilts, each woman trying to over power the other.

"What I should have done a long time ago," Melissa replied and they broke off, flying away from each other. Aleale sneered and moved to go on the offensive.

Jack and Barbossa found themselves hemmed in by pirates and rebels. Ducking swings from a belaying pin-wielding man, Jack glanced over to see Norrington dueling ferociously with Dantes. Barbossa noticed as well. "Always got t' be the heroes, those navy gents," he grumbled.

"The whole lot of those law-abiding citizens do it, mate," Jack replied, disarming the large man and cutting him down. The two captains were literally back to back at one point, during which Barbossa spoke again.

"Never thought we'd be like this again, eh Jack?" he queried with a toothy smirk as he punched out an opponent, bringing his sword down on top of the staggering man.

"Nope!" Jack replied with a grin, defeating an opponent of his own. "Just like ol' times!"

Barbossa threw his head back and emitted his little trademark cackle and the two dived in.

Meanwhile, dear William and Elizabeth were hurrying up the stairs to the ramparts. Their purpose? To signal the small force that escorted the governor and other civilian leaders. Norrington had mentioned it as they escaped the jail that perhaps with some reinforcements, they'd be able to take the fort back faster. Together they pushed one of the cannons around the backside of the courtyard ramparts, towards the inland part of Port Royal. The force had gone out the back way and was taking refuge in an abandoned mill, waiting for said signal. The lieutenant had also been instructed off to the side that in case reinforcements were needs, two dry shots would be fired.

It was then that they both realized that loading a canon was something neither of them quite knew how to do. It had been long enough for them both forget how, even considering the amazing amount of practice they had at World's End.

After arguing for several minutes, they were interrupted by a warning shout and someone diving on top of them as bullets whizzed by over head. Mulroy scrambled to his feet as Murtogg returned fire upon the half dozen pirates that had noticed Will and Elizabeth. "Load the cannon, quick!" Mulroy said as he shot at the pirates and hitting a bull's eye.

Murtogg noticed the hesitation and hurried over. "Oh, never mind. I'll do it. Go keep those pirates from getting up 'ere!" Will and Elizabeth complied readily.

--

Dantes had to admit it. The Commodore was skilled. To be frank, the pirate captain was inwardly dancing. Finally, out of all the men he'd killed, he had found one worthy enough to remember. The Caribbean wasn't just some waste of space filled with incompetent sword fighters. There really were men there that could compete with him.

The duel moved all over the fighting field and ended up on the infamous ledge where, years before, Elizabeth Swann had toppled to end up rescued by a pirate named Jack Sparrow. By this time, both men were breathing heavily and the end was nigh.

James received a blow to the jaw as Dantes reflected his sword and swung a hard left with his free hand, a small lull in the formerly fast-paced duel occurring. The notched cutlass whizzed by overhead as the Commodore ducked and aimed for Dantes' unprotected abdomen. The swing was parried with an upward thrust and the rapid fire series of parries, swings, and jabs began anew.

They broke away from each other suddenly, both men wincing in pain as each injured the other simultaneously. Facing each other from about five feet away, Dantes and James circled warily, both of them examining their wounds. Taking short measured breaths, James glanced down at his right shoulder. The fabric of his uniform had been slashed open and blood was welling up from the cut beneath it. Dantes reached down to his side to feel at the cut that had been scraped across his ribs and sneered.

"I must admit, Norrington. I hadn't expected this fort to be diff'ernt from the others."

"You're not the only one."

"I also must wonder…why'd you spare that woman? She's a bit of a turn-coat and ain't exactly innocent."

"Frankly, it doesn't concern you."

"I didn't miss that she'd switched sides. She's goin' t' betray you again."

"Perhaps," James replied, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "But just maybe I've been witty enough to convince her otherwise."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed."

Their circling stopped just as the loud report of a cannon went off and shortly after, another. "Signallin' for reinforcements, are you?"

"We'll see." Inwardly, James wasn't even sure if the reinforcements would get there in time for the end result. The seeming friendly banter ended quite suddenly and two opponents were eyeing each other with slit-eyed gazes, Dantes' glowing yellow one meeting James' unflinching green one. The Commodore flexed the fingers of his left hand and that was all it took.

Dantes moved like lightning when he did and their swords met in a clang of steel and a flash of sparks. The battle moved even faster than before and there were several harrowing moments when both men were very near decapitating the other. Things were leaning in James' favor when suddenly, Dantes had him disarmed and slammed up against the little arch where the harbor bell was housed. The precipice of the cliff was on Dantes' left and the Commodore was in the same place Elizabeth had been when she fell. One of the pirate's big hands closed around his throat and James found himself being lifted off his feet and struggling for breath.

All he could see was Dantes' leering visage and those glowing yellow eyes with the diamond-shaped pupils as blackness started to creep around the corners of his vision. The pirate captain laughed suddenly and he noticed how sharp his teeth looked. "No one bests the Demon!" Dantes' voice echoed in his ears. The coldness that Melissa had felt the day before was overwhelming and the hands James was using to try and break Dantes' grip were growing numb.

And just when he thought it was all over, another voice broke through the laughter. "Is that so?" Dantes' expression fell rapidly as his glowing eyes drifted down to his chest where a patch of red was blossoming from the tip of a sword. The sword tip drew back into Dantes' chest with a wet sound. The blackness threatening to overcome James retreated suddenly and swiftly as the pressure on his windpipe disappeared and he dropped to the ground, gasping. Dantes turned slowly, a strange expression on his face, to find Melissa Hart standing with the sword, blood running down the blade.

Something strange happened then. Instead of falling over dead, a smile was slowly creeping across Dantes' face and laughter was welling up from inside him. Melissa's formerly triumphant expression faded slightly. "Did you hope to kill me, Miss Hart?" the pirate queried. "Or did have you not heard the tales about me?"

Coughing as he was, the realization didn't hit James until he remembered suddenly Dantes' teeth. "Possessed!" he hacked between coughs. "He really is possessed!" Dantes' threw his head back and laughed aloud, his eyes glowing like coals in a fire.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 16: _Dénouement_

And the battle raged on. Sweat and blood stained the flagstones as the fight took its toll on both sides. The heat from the now-midday sun was beating down on them. Careless mistakes were being made, resulting in a few extra casualties. Here and there, small lulls in the mass melee occurred.

Jack was taking advantage of one such lull. Ducked behind a wall, he used it for support as he paused to catch his breath. Norrington should have been done by now, he figured. Why was the fight still going? The captain wiped a hand across his brow and stuck his head out to look around for the villainous Dantes.

He was still trying to pick out the black-clad pirate when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Jack whirled around. "It's jus' me, cap'n!" Gibbs exclaimed, throwing up his hands as Jack's blade poked his adam's apple. Jack relaxed with a weary sigh.

"'Ow many times 'ave we gone over that, Mr. Gibbs? Don't sneak up on me."

"My apologies, sir."

"'Ave ye seen Dantes around?"

"That's what I came for ye for. Those rumors we 'eard about Dantes in Tortuga a whiles back is true."

"So 'e is possessed."

"Aye. And 'e's givin' the Commodore a bit o' trouble."

Jack chewed his bottom lip, casting around again. A possessed man was equally difficult to kill as a cursed one was. The location of the fort was what gave Jack an idea.

Overlooking the port town, the roofs of the many buildings could be seen. And just barely poking up above the roofs was the tip of a church steeple. The sight brought back a humorous memory to Jack and with it, a solution. "Gibbs, with me," he said suddenly and scurried off into the melee again. Gibbs scrambled after him.

"What's on yor mind, cap'n?" he called. Jack didn't answer. He was busy making a cross over his sword.

--

Melissa panicked again. Dantes was advancing towards her with a sadistic smile on his face. Her ego pouted and cursed her for being such a girl. But its protests went unheard by her mind, which had completely gone blank except for the mental screaming of "What the devil do I do?"

She acted upon the first idea that came to mind – she threw her sword at him. Futile it would come to be.

Dantes casually swatted the blade away and a large fist jabbed out and struck her. Melissa wheeled backwards several steps before tripping over her own feet. Flat on her back, the only thing she saw for a few seconds was stars and then Dantes standing over her, the sword in his hand and risen over his head.

I'm dead, she thought and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow. And, as cliché would have it, the blow never came. Melissa peeked out to see the Commodore on Dantes' back and rubbing something into the pirate's eyes.

Luckily and due to a negligent corporal, a barrel of cannon powder sat complacently in the corner of the little square. James took advantage of this and, seizing a handful of the black stuff, leapt in desperation upon Dantes' back. One arm wrapped around the pirate's neck while his other arm swept up to jam the powder into those glowing eyes. Years later, James would look back on that moment. He'd see himself executing the gangling attack jump and latch upon Dantes' shoulders like a bug and he would feel chagrin. The crazy, impulsive attack made him think of Jack Sparrow.

Dantes emitted a snarl and thrashed around to dislodge James from his back. Ducking, the Commodore barely managed to keep the top of his head as Dantes swatted at him with his sword. Finally, after a moment of struggle, James found himself back on the ground.

The pirate swung around to face him, fury's fire in his burning, watering eyes. What happened next happened so fast, it took careful looking-back afterwards to realize what had indeed occurred. A blur passed over James and he had to look twice to see who it was.

Jack Sparrow executed a sharp thrust with his sword and pierced Dantes chest where Melissa had struck him. Immediately, a sizzling sound could be heard. Dantes' formerly angry expression faded away to a startled one and he fell back a few steps, pawing numbly at the sword. The eyes that looked back at Jack were bright blue, their burning yellow hue gone. Suddenly, Dantes' intimidating aura dissipated and he stood a regular man. His eyes rolled back as the color drained from his entire being and he toppled over backwards, gray and defeated.

Getting to their feet, James and Melissa walked over to the dead man. Jack followed suit and the three stood over Dantes just looking down at him. "How did you do it?" James asked incredulously.

"T'was easy. Ye seem t' forget I impersonated a monk, mate," Jack replied with a smug expression.

It was someone else that destroyed the moment of triumph for Jack. He, Melissa, and the Commodore glanced over to find one of Dantes' crew standing there. The man's mouth formed a small 'o' and he was pointing at his captain's motionless form with a trembling hand. There was an awkward moment where they all sort of looked at each other. The pirate again ruined the moment.

His shock transformed to anger as he rushed Jack with his sword, yelling a battle cry. The sharp report of a pistol made the trio jump. The pirate fell dead at Jack's feet and they found Gibbs standing where the pirate had, pistol smoking in his hand. The action seemed to bring them back into the present. "Battle's not over yet, you lot."

--

It would be another two hours or so before all the fighting ceased and the pirates and rebels locked up. The timely arrival of the reinforcements that had formerly watched over the governor and others helped a great deal.

Aleale would be set up for trial for the next day and would be tried as any man would. As 'liberated' as Melissa, this was what she wanted anyway. She would more than likely spend some time in jail and then be released. And it was a certain naval officer that opposed sending her back into slavery.

In all, it was a lovely ending. Barbossa got his ship and Jack was rid of his troublesome former first mate finally. Though the casualties of the two-day confrontation ran over one hundred men dead and more wounded, morale was increased upon victory.

And at the end of the day, Elizabeth, Will, the Commodore, and Melissa stood and watched as the _Pearl _and the newly named _Sofia_ sailed out of the harbor, the afternoon sun glinting on the water. The two pirates left several pounds of gold richer as well.

No words were exchanged for a long period of time, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Will heaved a sigh and threw his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and the couple turned to depart. A brief, silent good day passed between them and James before they left, leaving the two alone.

James took a deep breath of the salty air, closing his eyes for a moment. This would make for an interesting letter to the family back in Albemarle, England and an even more interesting report to make to the Admiralty.

"You know…" Melissa's voice broke into his thoughts and he looked at her. She was facing the open water and a distant expression had come over. "This place was supposed to be just another …thing to crush under my thumb."

"Well, I'm assuming you've learned that Port Royal isn't about to be crushed so easily."

"Yes." Melissa fell to playing with her fingers a moment before looking at him. The tiniest of smiles was tugging at the corners of her mouth. James couldn't tell if it was genuine or derisive. "And you were supposed to be just another discriminating, pompous navy officer."

James felt one eyebrow beginning to quirk and he took a moment to say something. There was some kind of connection going on here. It wasn't the same feeling he'd had when discovering he'd fallen for the governor's daughter but something…different. The feeling had been nagging in the back of his mind ever since meeting Melissa Hart and James hadn't acknowledged it until just now. The irritating thing about it was that it made him unsure and that was something he certainly didn't like. "Is this…going in the direction I think it's going or…am I just confused?"

He was about ready to assume she wasn't going to answer when a hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. "I'm not sure." The two looked at each other. "What kind of direction do you think it's going in?"

"That is an interesting question." She chuckled.

"To be sure."

A thoughtful expression replaced his unsure one as he looked back out over the water. He placed his free hand over hers. "Perhaps…we should just let it go in whatever direction it wants to." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Melissa's smile widening as a familiar coy look flashed in her dark eyes.

"Perhaps."

--

Epilogue

"Let's get a move on or we'll be late!"

"Oh, have some patience. It's only a quarter 'til five," came the reply. James Norrington rolled his eyes, exhaling an exasperated sigh as he adjusted his jacket at the front door. Out of habit, he reached for his pocket watch for the seventh time in the past five minutes.

By this time, it was December and the Anderson's were throwing their annual Christmas party. The Caribbean weather still ranged into the seventies and the sun hadn't even begun its nightly decent.

The general aftermath of the rebel outbreak had been relatively calm. The port went back to daily life and normalcy reigned. The defeat of the rebels brought praise to the Port Royal troops and officers. Prevailing where forts Smalle and Ballon had failed added yet more prestige to Port Royal.

"Don't fuss, dear. It won't take ten minutes to get to the Anderson's," Melissa stated as she appeared in the hallway, putting on her earrings. She was clad in a russet dress and a gold band glittered on the ring finger of her left hand just behind a bejeweled one.

"Can we just move along, please? I'm normally there by now," James replied setting his hat on his head. A matching band graced his own finger. Melissa donned a shawl and James hurried her outside to the waiting carriage.

The marriage of James M. Norrington and Melissa B. Hart was to be a surprise among the guests at the party. Of course the upper class talked often of the Commodore's courtship of the basically unknown dark-haired woman but no word of a proposal ever got out. The marriage had been a clandestine ceremony as Melissa had requested. "Do something off the books for once," she had said to James before hand. It was a milestone for the Commodore.

Yes, hearing "Mr. and Mrs. Commodore Norrington" announcing the two did turn quite a few heads at the party. For Melissa it was a new experience. She'd never thought of herself as becoming a missus. And especially not to the man she had sworn to overthrow with a rebellion.

During the middle of the party after all the congratulations and greetings and surprise wore off, James had gone off to talk about the recent news going on in the colonies and Melissa was left standing near the refreshment table with a glass of wine. A brilliant Christmas tree bedecked in gold glittered in the center of the room. She found herself staring at it more than once. Her foot tapped to the tunes of "What Child is This?" that the quartet in the corner was playing.

"It isn't so bad, is it?"

Melissa jumped, nearly upsetting her glass. "Oh! What?"

Rebecca Anderson had appeared at her elbow, a knowing smile on her face. "Marriage. I told you it wasn't as bleak as you thought it was," she said, raising her own glass of wine. Melissa rolled her eyes but was smiling as she did.

"So I was wrong, then. No need to rub it in."

Rebecca laughed her musical laugh. "I am glad, though, that you decided to come to our side."

"What?"

"Come come now. Two what's in a row is a first for you."

"No what do you mean by come to your side?" Even as she asked the question, Melissa knew what her friend meant. Fletcher Anderson had probably spoken of how she had been in league with the rebels. And Rebecca could see it plainly.

"You know what I mean. And I think I now understand what you spoke of the last time we met."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

Melissa smiled. "Well then..."

"Do you think you'll enjoy it here?" Rebecca asked. Melissa didn't answer at first. She let her gaze flow across the room to land on her husband. As if feeling it, James turned to meet her and the rare showing of a smile creased his features for a second.

"Yes, I think I will."

--

AN: Holy cow, I just had to stop myself from typing OOC:. Leave it to a roleplayer. Anyway, again, mucho sorry for the wait. I keep getting distracted by several things but now that I have finished my first multi-chapter Pirates fic, I can let said things distract me. I would like to thank you all who have stuck with me to the end, lackluster as I think it was. Whee for me – Incendie is now my longest running fic! Again, many many thanks to you readers. See you all on May 25th!!

And if anyone is interested in Jak and Daxter, don't forget to look my next fic – Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Krimzon starring the one and only Torn!


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